


Bless Me

by ErosandPsyche



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Priests, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Background Case, Crowley Being an Asshole, Dean-Centric, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, It's For a Case, M/M, Priest Castiel, Touch-Starved Castiel, Undercover, Undercover Dean, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 51,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7255363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErosandPsyche/pseuds/ErosandPsyche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets sent to a tiny town in Kansas to trail a kidnapper; all in a day's work for him. But when he gets there and meets Father Castiel, sparks literally fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holy Orders

“I ain’t shaving for nothing. Tell me what you got.”

Dean carefully ran the cheap safety razor along his jaw, removing three days worth of of stubble. Underneath was tan skin and a dusting of freckles, both caused from constantly being outdoors.

“I located two people of their description in Lebanon, Kansas. Seems fitting, she said he’s very religious now.”

“Stealing a kid isn’t exactly biblical, Sammy. Wait, is it? That book is all kindsa fucked up.”

A snort came from the mobile phone sitting beside the faucet, his brother apparently not appreciating the sentiment. “You’re going to have to curb that sort of talk during the case. This is bible country and religion is our only lead.”

“So what, I’ll stop at a few churches and sweet talk the little old biddies for information.”

Dean washed his face and dried it, picking up the phone for the four steps it took to get to the bed. He was in a motel at the tail end of their last case, a hunt for college girl who ran away with a cult. To him this wasn’t much different, except it involved a kid.

Lisa reached out for help after the police did their usual bang-up job and the case got passed around until Sammy got ahold of it. Sam never refused a mom. Dean never refused a hot mom.

Seriously though, he understood the parallels. Their own mother died when Sammy was just a baby, leaving their retired cop turned private dick father with two boys and one way to support them. It wasn’t an easy life, but Dean couldn’t complain. They helped people.

“I’ve done you one better; I got you a job at the main church there. So brush up on that fucked up book, you’ll need it.”

Dean picked up his phone and stared at the blurry picture of his brother malevolently.

“Stop glaring at me, it’s the best way to get to know your _flock_. They’ve changed their name, we don’t have any recent pictures, just look for the new guy in town. He has a gambling problem too.”

“I’d rather work at a casino,” Dean muttered, grabbing a shirt and rolling it to tuck away in his battered old Deer Johne luggage.

“No such luck. There are three in the whole state and none near our potential perp.”

“That's it baby, talk cop to me. So hot.”

“One, gross. Two, I'll send more information soon. Hanging up now, heathen.”

“There's incest in the Bible!” Dean yelled at the phone, but the call already clicked off. He chuckled as he finished packing the last few important items, his gun and his wallet of aliases.

It was a job that skirted the line of legality often, a line their father taught them how to avoid getting caught crossing. He was gone now, but Dean didn't know any other life and his brother didn't trust him on his own.

It was a fair assumption. Dean's life revolved around cases, drinking beer, cases, picking up strange at bars, cases. All of those got him in trouble sometimes.

Sammy would have been a better fit for this, but he was still tied up in a dogfighting ring bust. It would take an act of God, no pun intended, to pull that bleeding heart from abused animals.

It was a seven hour drive to Kansas so he filled up at a Gas n’ Sip and treated his Baby to a quick wipe down to remove grease stains and various litter. Baby was an oft rebuilt Impala ‘67, opened by his father and passed down to him. Some of his best times with his father were staring under its black hood, getting grease in the creases of his hands and small cuts cauterized with oil.

He lugged his beat up laptop into the first place likely to have wifi, a Patt's Burgers, with hot fries and a spotty connection. He checked out the emails detailing it his name, Dean Paxton, brief history, and the details of the case.

Lisa, the mother, had no pictures because the man who took her child also took time to rob her. And worse, he was a stalker that claimed was the father of her child which she vehemently denies. Normally he'd wonder if that was true, but parental kidnapping was still kidnapping and the police could and did drop the ball.

She was also paying, so he meticulously copied the bank account number with the upfront money and placed a small amount for travel in his.

Then he eyed the last part of the recent email and pulled out his phone as he packed up and threw away the messy wax paper lining the bottom of the plastic tray.

“Samuel,” he barked once his brother picked up. He opened the car door and slid in, depositing his bag on the passenger's seat. “Are you out of your friggin gourd? I can't pose as a goddamn Minister.”

“Not if you're going to blaspheme like that. Just keep your nose clean, shake a few hands, preach a few sermons, you'll be fine.

“They will never find your body,” Dean warned while eating onto the highway. He still had six and a half hours, and all of them were going to be spent getting his cover changed to something manageable.

“You're a guest speaker for two weeks, you'll live somehow.” Sam’s infamous eye roll could be heard through the phone somehow. “You've always said it's all bullshit, and if there's one thing I know you're good at, it's bullshit.”

Dean seriously considered heading all the way back to Minnesota and dragging his tall ass brother to Kansas by his long hair. “It's not just any bullshit, Sam. They got codes and books and special handshakes.”

“Oh my god, you're complaining more than that time you had to be a substitute teacher.”

“It was at an all-boys boarding school. It was _not_ like Dead Poet’s Society.”

“I remember, okay?”

“More like Lord of the Flies.”

Sam snorted. “So I sent the money and the address you’re meeting the church coordinator, Charlie.”

Dean could only imagine a bald bureaucrat for God with a forty-year paunch and an eye for the pretty teenagers. A disgusted shudder ran through him. “I’ll pay you back for this. I promise you that with every fiber of my being.”

He muttered to himself as Sam covered the other bits of pertinent information, including a recitation of the address and the name of his new job, Roseview Church. He’d had an email interview with Charlie already, apparently, and passed with flying colors. Sam said ‘just be yourself’.

Like _that_ was going to work.

As an added precaution, Dean made sure to get all his blasphemy out long before he ever reached the Kansas border.

Burning rubber down a lonely stretch of road, he drummed his fingers and sang, “ _If we don’t make it alive; Well it’s a hell of a good day to die_.” Bobbing his head to the beat, he missed the tinny ring of his mobile.

Lebanon was about thirty minutes from the North border, and not two minutes into the state his radio crackled. Grumbling, he hit the scan button to see what he could find.

“Is that Sugar, Sugar?”

Scan.

“The Corrs, seriously? What is this!”

Scan.

“Miss Independent? No. This is like some shitty junior high homecoming dance and I hate this place already.”

The dove white Welcome sign hung by two wooden posts with no civilization in sight yet, reading Welcome to Lebanon! Center of the United States!

“ _You gotta be hard, you gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger_ ,” Dean crooned as he went down the hundredth hill with nothing but flat fields around him. The next high point of the road he saw it in the distance like a mirage brought on by suicidal boredom; buildings, real goddamn buildings. “ _All I know, all I know never saved the day_.”

He picked up his phone to GPS the place he was supposed to stop first. Normally he’d grab a room at a nearby roach coach, but there was nothing on this side of ‘The Center of the USA’.

Even from half a mile out the town looked like a mix between modern and crumbling. He could see a chapel from all the way out, a pointy white proclamation to Jesus or whatever, and also a gas station that looked as if it had been laid to waste by the Vikings.

He pulled up to a neat tiny real estate office sandwiched between a kitschy Ann’s Collectibles and a greasy Main Street Nook. When he climbed out of his car a redheaded woman burst out of the office waving at him. She had eyes as light green as his own and a radiant smile.

Uneasy, he looked behind him in case someone else was walking by.

“Pastor Paxton!” She stopped at the curb, waiting for him to come around before shaking his hand with a firm grip. “Or should I call you that? I know you said you’re informal and we’ll be working together a lot, so.”

“Dean is fine.” He must have been staring at her like she was mad because she tucked a few strands behind her ear with a bashful smile.

“I’m sorry, I’m Charlie Bradbury. I’m your coordinator and,” she pointed behind her, “this is where I work when I’m not helping you. I bet it was such a long drive from Las Vegas.”

He had skimmed through his history so that didn’t completely catch him off guard. “Yep, but uhh, God, he got me through it.”

She paused, but her smile came back full force as she peeked in his car. “I think it’s amazing you were working down in Las Vegas, I think I mentioned that. Did you bring much? I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

“I pack light. Why don’t we talk for a bit first, I need to stretch my legs.” Much like with anything one is avoiding thinking about, he had to actively stop himself from making any rude or crude comments. It was hard.

“Oh, I’ll walk you up to the church then and we can hash out details!” Charlie announced happily.

He looked dubiously at the steeple high above all the buildings. “Maybe we should just drive, I don’t need to stretch my legs that much.”

Charlie blinked, follow his gaze and seemed to...blush as she tucked the same strand behind her ear. “Oh, that’s St. Michael the Archangel Catholic Church. Our church is this way.”

He followed her, relieved that he wasn’t posing as a priest. He’d stepped in one a few times and they were long and complicated and he never knew what was going on. And what was with the incense?

In fact, Dean was thinking about being less irritated with Sam up until the point she announced, “Here it is, home sweet home.”

The building was clearly a church once upon a time, maybe when the settlers were still taking shits in the woods while wearing coonskin hats. Someone had painted it recently and hacked a rough path through the maze of rosebushes, so there was that.

Roseview was an understatement, there was every shade of red, pink, white and yellow blossoms surrounding the place like there was a sleeping princess inside. He followed her with some dread as they walked up the worn cement steps and she pulled out a key to unlock the sturdy wood door.

“We’ve done what we can. The congregation has pitched in wonderfully, but I know there’s still some plumbing and electrical work. Not that I hired you to be our glorified handyman, of course.” She laughed a little and he suspected that was the exact reason he was picked. No wonder he didn’t even need to do a real interview.

The pews looked old but sturdy, the square windows on each side let in plenty of light. At the front was an old podium tucked into a full length bay window. Everything was painted white except the wood furniture. He had to admit, he feared worse from the jungle outside.

“I’ll need some tools.” Dean shook his head. At least he knew how to work with his hands. He did frown when she showed him an old paint bucket with a hammer, measuring tape, pliers, and a two wrenches inside.

She blushed again. “We can work out a deal with the hardware store tomorrow.”

Dean hated pursing his mouth, he felt like some prude schoolmarm, but if there was ever a time to do it… “All right, we can ask the ‘congregation’ to lend us what they got. How many people we have?” Taking a look at the pews, he tried to do the quick math in his head. 3 rows, 7 pews each...say three people seated in each. “Out of what, sixty, seventy people someone has to have a working set.” We are out in the middle of nowhere after all, he didn’t say.

“Umm.” Charlie rubbed the back of her neck and gave him a toothy grin in apology. “We’re not exactly bursting to the rafters. I mean, we’ll get there, but change is slow around these parts.”

“Slow? Jesus wasn’t dead when this place was built.” Oops. He waited for the shock and horror, but she just giggled.

“I know, but after Minister George passed away nobody took his place. That’s when I was still a kid. We renovated as much as we could afford and opened the church last year because I think people need a choice. Not everyone in town is Catholic, but that’s all we’ve had for decades.”

“Ah.” Dean wanted to turn right around and drive his Baby right out of this mess, but a religious person wouldn’t do that, right? He wouldn’t bail, he’d be excited to, uh, give people a place to worship. “So who’s the head person around these parts?”

Charlie gave him big wide eyes. “Like, the Mayor?”

“No, around here.” He made a circle around his feet. “Who’s the normal pastor minister person?”

Somehow her eyes got bigger as she blinked twice. “You are, now.”

What. Dean was going to find Sam and throttle him. He’ll do worse than throttle him, he’ll pick his giant body up, find a bridge, throw him off that bridge, fish him out and run him over. He belatedly smiled. “I mean, you said you’ve been open for a year?”

“Oh! Well, I’ve been running things, building up our little community, but I’m not a leader. What we need is a leader.” Charlie looked up at him with bright eyes filled with hope and he felt like shit.

Which wasn’t cool, he never felt guilty about posing in any occupation. He’d run the gambit from cop to Federal Agent, high school boyfriend to out-of-state cousin. Hell, he once put on face makeup and an orange wig to get access to a house during a kid’s birthday party.

He cleared his throat and began walking around, peeking in all the doors and finding the bathrooms to jiggle the toilet handles. “So, how many people we got?”

“Including me and you?”

“Yeah.”

“Eight.”

“Eight.” He stared at her and sighed. Well, at least he wouldn’t get stage fright. “All right, I’m going to look around and make a list of items I’ll need. You hit up the flock, then the store. I’m going to bed, wherever that is.”

“It’s a really nice place, Heddy offered to board you because she has a granny annexe.”

“A wha?”

“Oh, an in-law suite. You know, separate living quarters in the same house, but you’ll have your own entrance and kitchen, that sort of thing.”

He nodded as if he lived in houses his whole life, or even just more than one for a handful of years before he could really remember it. “Sounds great.”

They walked back to the offices after he finished a preliminary list for her. She told him about the six - six! - people who attended the church. None of them were a supposed father and son who moved here three months or less ago, but one was an ex-con. He was keeping his gun in the pulpit.

He followed her little car further into town and down an old road to a rather picturesque house. Two levels, blue scalloped trim, and a neat lawn lined with oranges, yellows and more blue flowers. He grabbed his duffel bag and came around to lean against his passenger door.

“Here’s my number.” He held out a plain white card to her with hastily scribbled information. “So we don’t have to talk through email anymore.”

“Thanks.” She looked at the card and rubbed her fingers across it. “You know, I just wanted to say thank you again. It’s been really rough without guidance here. I know people need this, but widespread acceptance isn’t coming easy.” She looked up at him with the strain showing around her eyes and mouth. “I’m so glad you accepted. We had some good offers, but none who spoke to me the way you do. You understand the struggle of being different.”

He nodded, trying to hide his swallow. “Right, I do. Um, which...difference spoke to you the most?”

A twitch lifted the corner of her mouth, that warm smile peeking out again. “That you’re gay too.”

 _Son of a bitch_.


	2. Holy Moly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Dean knows the extent of Sam's duplicity, he can plot his death accordingly. But first he has events to plan, parish to greet, and one foredained meeting.

“I’m gay.” Dean said flatly into his phone once he was safely ensconced upstairs. Heddy was a widowed thirty-something who was apparently part of his parish and most definitely did not flirt with him. She was pretty bangin’ for a middle-aged woman too.

The in-law suite had furniture and nice, but old, dinnerware in the kitchen cupboards. She showed him around, dropped the key in his palm, and thanked warmly him for being there.

“You’re coming out over the phone?” Sam asked not seriously at all. “I mean...this means so much to me. But I’ve known for years, honestly.”

“Fuck you, Sam. I’ve been drowning in the weeds down here trying to not blow my cover while you’re getting your rocks off jerking me around.”

“Phrasing?”

“Shut up.”

“All right, all right, I’m sorry. But it was our way in and you were already freaking out. Just find the guy, call it in, and you can be out of there before the Sunday morning service.”

“Yeah well your research sucks. He’s not going to the church I’m now in charge of.”

“Do some legwork then.” Sam did start to sound exasperated. “We’ve had all of two cases where the missing person just plops in our lap. Stop acting like such an amateur.”

Dean savagely hit the End Call button with his thumb and wished he still had a clunker with a handle so he could slam down the phone proper. It was so much more satisfying to hear the crack and the muffled clang inside like a bell.

Sam was right in the way Dean was on this case now and he’d never turned tail and ran from an awkward or difficult situation. What he needed was something in his growling stomach and a good sleep on the wide bed with a handmade quilt.

He grabbed a few twenties out of his bag, palmed the key and double checked the perimeters. Because he was a paranoid bastard he always sprinkled salt on the sills and entrances so he’d know if someone entered his domain besides him.

Indeed there was a tiny salt and pepper shaker set on the otherwise empty counter. After that was finished he recited the directions to the grocery store that he looked up and locked his door on the way out.

He walked through the sunken backyard, a tall wooden fence giving him some relative privacy in his coming and goings. It was quite preferred, to be honest, since his hours were often in the dead of night depending on the nature of the hunt.

The houses were as different as could be, some looked like tiny cottages from a magazine and others had maybe two patches of grass and broken vehicles sitting in the cracked driveways.

It was easy to find Taylor’s Market, especially since it was right next to a plain square building claiming to be the Town Hall and a shop actually called ‘ _Anne Jobber, Tailor and Cobbler_ ’. Really.

A jingle greeted him as he pushed open the door and cool air rushed over him. The sun was nearly over the horizon but the mugginess lingered thickly in the air.

It was cheery and efficient, with six-packs of beer on the end cap right in front of him. He automatically reached out for one, but his fingers fell short as he blinked. Would a gay Minister drink beer? He sucked dick, so maybe.

“A crisis of faith?” Came a sharply amused voice from behind him.

Dropping his arm casually, Dean turned to face a tall man in his sixties He wasn’t stooped at all, bearing mostly grey hair and keen brown eyes. At least he didn’t look hostile.

“I was just checking to see if it was non-alcoholic. It is right in front of the store, after all.” Dean felt very conscious of his jeans and leather jacket over a grey button down and black undershirt. He was pretty sure that ministers didn’t dress up all the time though.

The man raised an eyebrow, but he did hold out a hand. “Bradford Middleton, owner.”

“Dean Paxton, Minister.” Dean held man’s hand for a brief pump and dropped his hand. The man had a grip like calloused brick.

Bradford sized him up and down and up again. “Pass it on to Charlie to come see me.”

Despite his most certainly temporary place in town, Dean bristled at the request. Charlie never mentioned an old man in her recitation of his flock. “Why?”

The man chuckled dryly, his voice a bit slow and old country like molasses. “I don’t have no problem with my daughter, Minister. I’ll defend queers as the day is long, but don’t disrespect me in my shop.”

“Then perhaps you should call her yourself,” Dean said shortly as he grabbed several cans of soup and chili, heading to the back and checking out the frozen food section. Bradford was behind the counter when Dean dumped an armful of microwaveable foods on it.

And then he turned around, grabbed a six pack of beer, and placed that next to his food.

Bradford never looked away from him, eyes narrowed. “Paper or plastic?”

“Paper. Got to save the planet you know.”

“Have an ID?”

Fuck. The package Sam was sending wouldn’t be here for at least another day, depending if he splurged for Express. “What, no faith in a man of faith?”

The other man packed the food in two brown bags and took the crumpled twenty from Dean. He handed him back two dollars and change and said nothing when Dean picked up his bags and his beer.

It was a tense departure for Dean, but he didn’t hear a gun cocking behind his back so that was good. Once walking down the street again he hid the beer inside the bag. A place this size would take the news of his beer and turn it into him being a raging alcoholic who liked opium and orgies.

He let himself into the cozy digs and shoved everything in the fridge, cans and all. It wasn’t until he was sitting on the floral printed couch with a bowl of chili cheese fries and a beer that he realized there was no television against the wall.

“Son of a bitch!”

He pulled out his laptop and typed in the wifi password, heddy1, so he could watch Netflix or porn. After half the food’s worth of searching, he gave up on shows and pulled up a new browser. He should do research, but scantily clad honeys beckoned.

He compromised and typed in _nuns getting spanked_. Then he added _by priests_ for good measure.

Dean woke up with a sore neck and fully clothed, still on the couch. Around him were tissues stuffed in the empty bowl and a number of empty bottles that clanked when he stood up. He stretched for a good long minute, buckled his jeans, and went to the bathroom to get cleaned up and changed.

Yesterday was a hiccup. Today he would focus on the case and getting the hell out of here. So kidnapper didn’t go to the upstart church in a broken down building. Dean bet if the guy was so devoted he’d march his ass to that Catholic church with its overcompensating steeple.

It was time for a stakeout.

Until his phone rang and he answered, “Hey, Dean here.”

“Hi Pastor!” Charlie’s happy beam could be practically heard through the phone. “I’ve got a wonderful lady by the name of Edith who has lots of tools and is offering us them. Can you pick ‘em up?”

“Sure.” Or not time on the stakeout. Nobody went to church at 7 am on a Tuesday anyway. He scribbled down the address, glad he kept a small stack of plain cards with his phone number on it. ‘Lady with tools’ he added underneath it and slid it in his back pocket. “Call you after.”

He hung up and headed out to Baby. He had to clean out the trash from travel before peeling out of the sleepy street. Luckily he had an impeccable sense of direction and got there without much trouble. Plus whoever laid down the pavement was uncreative and it would be impossible to get lost.

The tiny house he pulled up in front of was somehow even more gentrified than his boarding lady’s. A handcarved sign reading ‘ _Amazing Grace, I Once Was Lost But Now Am Found_ ’ hung over the pale green door. They liked their signs here.

He jumped up the steps and knocked once. And waited. He knocked again and tried to peer through the white curtains hanging over the tiny rectangle window. “Hello?”

“HOLD YOUR HORSES!”

Good god. The door opened and at first he saw no one. Then his eyes traveled down to see a tiny, blue-haired lady peering up at him. She had a wood cane handle clenched in both hands and bright eyes in an immensely wrinkled face.

“You must be our new holy man,” she announced in a quavery voice. Suddenly she was a sweet little old lady who hadn’t just bellowed with the strength of four college boys. “Would you like some cookies?”

“I prefer pie,” he winked at her, cause old ladies loved a flirty good-looking man, then eyed the space around her.

She turned and walked further into the house, her thick cane making slow thumps on the hardwood floor. “The tools are in the basement. They belonged to my son, but he died in the war.”

What, World War 1? he did not ask as he followed her. She pointed a gnarled hand at a narrow door. “There.”

Basements were not his friend. He'd had more ambushes there than anywhere else. As he reached for the handle the light flickered above.

Then the lights above exploded, literally exploded, sending a shower of sparks down as the door opened.

A man stood there, clad entirely in black from the round hem around his ankles to the long sleeves that folded at his wrists. Messy black hair and intense blue eyes filled Dean’s vision.

“There seems to be a problem down here.” The man said gravely in a voice that was as deep and gravelly as a lifelong lounge singer smoker.

“Oh Father,” Edith said in a sad voice. “I’m sure you’re doing your best.”

Dean’s gaze travelled to the round collar around the man’s neck with its white band. Oh. Oh. He felt frozen in place, between a wizened senior behind him and the frankly gorgeous man in front of him.

And glass littering the ground around his feet.

“Has this happened before?” Was that his voice? He cleared his throat and coughed once. “The...exploding?”

Edith gazed skyward with her lips pursed, see, old schoolmarm. “No. We just changed the lightbulbs.”

Dean carefully stepped aside to peer closely at the socket. “Old wiring plus wrong wattage can equal...sparks.” He looked over the black clad figure still in the doorway. “Turn off the switch and slice a potato in half and hand it to me.” He dragged a stool toward the middle of the kitchen and held out his hand as he checked out the fixture of one of the broken light bulbs.

It took a minute but the potato was placed in his fingers. Dean shoved it around the broken glass and twisted until the socket came out. “Take this.” He lowered it and waited till his hand was empty before taking off the fixture.

Just as he suspected, the wiring was wrapped in cracking aluminum instead of copper.

As if drawn, his gaze went down to the Father watching him. He was late twenties at best, couldn't be any older than Dean himself. His dark hair looked rumpled as if someone had a great old time running their fingers through it.

His eyes though. Solemn, watchful, and this amazing shade of blue the sky would be jealous of.

Which was unusually poetic of him. “These aren't halogen, are they?”

“No. Just plain kitchen ones. The box is in the trash.”

Uneasy with how long he stared down at the Father, he hopped off the stool and went to investigate the box. Satisfied that they weren't all just poisoned, he trapped the side of the box. “Most houses built before a certain time,” like the 1900’s, “can't take this high wattage without redoing the wiring.”

“I am sorry,” came the gravelly voice behind him. “I'm afraid I didn't know that.”

Edith folded both hands on her cane. “It’s fine, Father Novak. A servant of the Lord has his mind on other things.” One papery hand rose as her eyes flew to Dean. “Not that one can’t…”

Dean chuckled. “Don’t worry, I only know enough theology to get me into trouble.”

Father Novak tilted his head while observing him, long lashes framing his blue eyes that girls would kill for.

Dean bet there were a lot of females of many ages in the pulpit that weren't thinking of God when they looked at him. “I’ll grab a voltage tester and then pick up more light bulbs for you.” He finally looked back at Edith, flashing her one of his best smiles. If part of the other church’s popularity was their incredibly good-looking priest, well, Dean was good looking too. He knew it, it was part of the reason he was so good at his job.

“Please,” Novak started, “send any expenses accrued to St. Michael’s. This was my mistake. I would go along, but I must begin Daily Mass soon.”

“Of course, Father.” Edith looked between them as if unable to decide which to settle on. “Thank you Pastor, but only if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not for you, Edith.” Dean grinned, glancing again at Novak. Instead of looking perturbed though, the other man continued to simply exude acceptance.

“I apologize for my rudeness. I am Father Castiel Novak.” He took a step closer as if to offer his hand, but it never rose.

Dean rarely had his space invaded by another man who wasn’t looking for a fight, so he scanned the other man’s expression closely. No, those eyes were guileless and his mouth soft and relaxed. Whew, okay, well. “I’m Dean Paxton. Good to meet you.” He almost said Father, but that felt as strange on his tongue as calling him Daddy.

“If you would ever like to come by Mass, we began at eight in the morning on weekdays.” Castiel had a formal way of speaking, as if he never heard of slang. It had to be an affectation to keep up his holy presence.

“Not quite my speed, but thank you.” Dean wasn’t sure if he should be acting more competitive since he was here to nab away some of the numbers.

“You are welcome either way. Edith, have a wonderful day.” Castiel turned, showing that what Dean thought was a skirt actually split at his waist and revealed black trousers.

Dean watched the other man go.


	3. Holy Light...Bulb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets a few more of the townsfolk and heads down to St. Michael the Archangel's Catholic Church.

It took the rest of the morning to finish replacing the bulbs and loading up the tools from Edith’s house. She asked him what time his service might be on Sunday. Apparently St. Michael’s had Mass at seven and 11:30 in the morning, so she promised to come if it were possible as she hadn’t missed one in forty-three years, even when she was in labor.

A quick phone call with Charlie confirmed theirs happened at ten. Dean walked back into his new living space with two receipts stuffed in his pocket and his trunk filled with boxes. He had to pick up certain items that didn’t exist twenty years ago though. He wasn't sure why he was so distracted by the priest. Maybe it was all that priest and nun porn. Some of those guys were pretty built under their cheap polyester robes.

He knew he'd never look at communion the same.

Placing aside a small plate of cookies she gave him, he pulled out his laptop and began to look for fundraiser ideas. If he could get some community participation, perhaps he’d find the boy sooner than later. It would have to be something that a kid would be into. Selling candy was touted to be a big seller.

He imagined in an isolated place like this people already had their gardens long since finished and already did bake sales for the schools. Not many people made candy though, he was sure of that.

He grabbed his phone. “Hey Charlie.”

“Hi Pastor! I’m so glad it went well at Edith’s, I hope she shows up Sunday.”

“Me too. I’ll drop the tools off at the church later. What have you tried as far as raising money?”

“Oh, we did a candy sale to pay for the renovations and again two weeks ago. To, you know, pay for you. But it was totally worth it.”

Dean fidgeted, knee bouncing as he thought. So candy was out. “I was thinking of having another community event to introduce myself to a larger number of people. Have you tried a...bake sale?”

“Oh no, no we can't. Edith rules the town with her baked goods. The other ladies have long since given up on trying, if I’m going to be honest. The school tried it last year, innocent as you can be... There I had the worst cherry tarts I ever, even though I know May is a perfectly fine cook. So petty.”

Dean stroked his jaw slowly. Competitive, were they? “What’s a food the town is known for? Anything?”

“Well, this is Kansas. We grow wheat, corn and beans.”

“Is chili a big thing?”

“Yeah, we always have at least five different types at potlucks.”

“Perfect.” Dean grinned and checked out Edith’s cookies again. He should have mentioned how much he liked pie several more times if she was that good. He was always searching for the perfect pie.

“What are you thinking?” She sounded intrigued and enthusiastic.

“A chili cook-off on Saturday. How fast do you think you could get word out and pull in at least a dozen participants?”

“I could have flyers printed up today!”

Dean felt rather satisfied with the idea, if not the having to wait. Saturday was four days away, but he’d been on longer cases. Maybe he could be out before it was time for him to miserably fail on Sunday.

He magnanimously offered to be one of the Judges for exposure so long as there were two other well-known people alongside him. She promised to drop off a stack for him if he wouldn’t mind helping to pass them out. Of course he didn’t and he knew the first place he was going to take the flyers.

Bradford raised his eyebrows as Dean entered the store with a stack of yellow flyers. She had done a good job on short notice, it had a central park location, she assured him, and pertinent details such as face painting and other kid activities.

It was almost like working with Sam, he could be the idea man and she brought it to life.

“Your daughter,” Dean said as he laid down a paper on the counter, “is hosting an event this Saturday. Should I sign you up now, or?”

The older man picked up the paper and scanned it over much the same way he had Dean his first visit. “We have a bulletin board for this kind of thing. Over there.” He pointed at the wall to the left of the entrance that had a number of flyers and scraps of paper.

Dean left one copy on the counter and sauntered to the board, grabbing an extra tack in the corner. He pinned it next to horseback riding lessons and a teenager by the name of Nicholas offering babysitting services.

“You know.” Bradford said, a lot closer than he was a moment ago. Dean turned and eyed the three feet between them.

“Yes?”

“I know your kind,” he said slowly, considering his words. “You put up a good front, son. But I know.”

Dean judged the distance from the door from where he was. Not that he was worried about violence, it was partially habit. He wondered if he was about to be subjected to prejudice or, alternatively, the man saying he didn’t act stereotypical enough.

“Celeste is here for the long haul. She’ll keep fighting no matter how hopeless the cause. But you’re not that type. When the going gets tough, you get going.”

Oh, so that’s how he was playing it? It wasn’t about his preferences at all. Dean straightened out his stack and looked the man over. Tit for tat. “Takes one to know one, huh pop? Why don’t don’t you focus on your actual child.”

Son was one of the more condescending words that always got his hackles up.

Bradford didn’t say another word as Dean walked out, but he could feel the stare on the back of his neck as he went left instead of right.

The bright yellow was easy to see and he placed the flyers on steps and wedged at the opening of fences whenever someone didn’t answer the door. The fourth house, however, flew open the second his knuckles grazed the wood. Two young women opened the door, both dark haired beauties who undoubtedly were the belles of the town. They certainly held themselves in a way to suggest put-upon sophistication.

“Oh my goodness,” the one with long darker hair sucked in a breath, “you must be Celeste’s new Pastor. I hadn’t though…”

The other girl, with short brown curls, subtly nudged her sister as she stood beside her. “Excuse my sister. My name is Bela.”

“Abbie,” her sister coughed then held out a hand with a big smile. “My name is Ruby. It’s so good to make your acquaintance.” She wrapped her fingers around his once he moved to shake her hand. She did not pull away. “You must come in for coffee.” “Or tea.”

Bela, or Abbie, knocked her elbow into Ruby’s arm to make her let go of Dean. “And what is that?” She pointed at the papers, the ones he nearly forgot about.

“We’re having a chili cook-off. Can I sign either of you up for the contest? I bet you two can cook up a fantastic meal.” He smiled at the two of them. Though he was invited in, neither seemed to remember to move back.

“Oh, Abbie is definitely the cook of the family. I guess she got the brains and I got the looks.” Ruby giggled as she trailed her fingers down her neck.

Despite the fact this reminded him of a porno he watched once, he held out two flyers. “I’ll take a raincheck on that drink. However, I am going to be a judge at the cook-off and would love to take a taste of your...chili.”

Frank interest showed more on Ruby’s face, though Abbie was clearly in this competition. Abbie spoke first, “Speaking of drinks, our grandfather has a microdistillery that he’s been running since before the Kansas Prohibition. It would go great with the...chili.”

Ruby gasped in faux-censor. “Abbie, this is a church event.”

“No, it’s a community event,” Dean said quickly. “No affiliations necessary to show up. That sounds great, have your grandfather bring whatever he’s willing to offer as samples and handouts. Does he know anyone with a microbrewery?”

While Dean loved his beer, he preferred certain brands over all the new trendy flavors and mixtures coming out. However, if it got people there he was all for old men bringing their moonshine.

“Does he?” She shared a knowing look with Abbie. “Don’t worry, Pastor, we’ll get the word out.” The way her mascara thick lashes coursed over him, he was sure they’d be talking about a lot more than the event.

“Thank you ladies. Looking forward to seeing you there.”

“Toodle-loo!” Both giggled and shut the door, probably fighting each other to get to the phone.

Dean smirked. “Toodle-loo,” he murmured as he walked light-heartedly down the steps to the spotless cement path. See? He was just as pretty as the priest. Well, almost as.

While he did a few more curious neighbors to open their door, they usually fell into two categories. Some asked him questions about himself and the Sunday service, and others asked him about himself and the contest. It was easy to tell which were being polite and which had an interest.

He stuck to his fake childhood for the case, he was born in Morrison, Colorado and travelled with his father who was a travelling Minister. Dean took up the mantle when his father passed away.

Yes, his last assignment was in Las Vegas, and yes, he was looking forward to settling down in Lebanon. Nobody asked about his orientation or dating life, but he could also tell which people found it objectionable. He talked up the contest to everyone regardless.

The other two judges and the prize would be a ‘surprise’ and it would be, because he had no idea how to answer either question yet. He reached the middle of the street and saw someone else had already placed yellow flyers all down the other side of the street.

That meant he only had the one left since he saw no yellow sign, a stately brick three-level home.

Dean jogged up the stairs and knocked twice confidently. A young boy answers the door and Dean’s hopes soar.

The kid they were looking for was eleven and this kid looked to be about that age. “Hello. Are you here about the new church?” he asked politely. “My name is Jesse.”

“I am. I’m also here about a fun event going on this Saturday in Middlepoint Park. It’ll have stuff for kids. Have you lived here long?” He used his best patient voice he reserved for children.

Jesse, if that was his name, looked up to Dean in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of Charlie when she was confiding why she chose him. Or perhaps it was the look of a child who’d been dragged across state lines?

That hope was dashed when a woman peered around the corner, holding a phone to the side of her head. “Oh! Oh Glen, hold on.” She practically ran down the hall.

Dean prepared himself by putting a harmless smile on, but she didn’t look like a concerned mom. She looked like a furious one, and it was all for Dean.

The woman practically wrenched the paper out of Jesse’s hand and threw it on the porch. “No, thank you,” she said icily before slamming the door. Okay. Most likely not Ben, but he felt for the poor kid anyway. People who weren’t tolerant of one thing tended to be rigid in lots of other progressive issues.

He left the crumpled paper in case the kid could get out and take another look. Not cause he thought he’d see Jesse there, but it had his and Charlie’s phone number at the bottom.

Since he didn’t see any streets without yellow flyers the next stop was his car to transport the tools. “I’m heading up to the church now. I was gonna ask though, what’s up with that big brick house of Fifth Street. Um, had a boy about eleven…”

“Oh, the Turners. You didn’t knock, did you?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry about that. Julia and Jim are very vocal about their bigotry. She used to be my babysitter, actually. She hasn’t spoken to me in years and she won’t step foot in my dad’s shop. I guess because it’s his fault she was exposed to my kind.”

Dean shifted his weight uncomfortably, halfway wishing he hadn’t brought it up now. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care, it’s all water under the bridge now. Some people just aren’t ever going to come around.”

“Speaking of which.” In for a penny, he supposed. “I hung a flyer up in Taylor’s Market.” Not that it was any of his business, but if she cared about some dumb babysitter, which she clearly did, then she probably cared about her father too.

She was conspicuously quiet for someone who was normally so chatty. “What a great idea! I’ll hit up some of the local shops and see if I can place them there too. Do you think I should head up to St. Michael’s too?” She laughed at the last part, but it got him thinking.

“No, you know what, I’ll head to the big church.”

“Oh, no, I was just kidding!”

Dean grabbed the flyers and ran his thumb along the slightly raised print. “Don’t worry. The worst they can do is say no.”

“Well, I guess, but maybe I should do it. The Father can come off a little scary at first.” She was clearly not on board with the idea at all. He didn’t think Charlie was so easily intimidated if she thought Cas was intimidating. Maybe it was just the position of being a priest.

“I am absolutely not worried.” Dean shook his head with an amused eye roll. He set up a time to meet at their, well, her church that evening to see what could be done about the plumbing.

On the way out he grabbed a cookie from the delicate china. He munched on it as he climbed into the Impala. It was really good. He was definitely going to suggest she bring pie on Saturday.

It was a short drive up to the tall church, which was even more grand once he was standing on its steps. Reminding himself that one, he was not intimidated, and second, there was no danger of lightning hitting him, he walked up to the huge double doors and opened it.

At first he was blinded with pale afterimages as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. He let the door close behind him and lingered for a moment. He could see into the main area from where he stood, with its polished pews and matching dark brown rafters up above.

The many pillars were white but the wall panels with a warm beige, and it was not inundated with crosses. The backlights on the wall behind the stage were yellow flanked by orange, and all of the stained glass windows were predominantly an intense blue that reminded him of their priest’s eyes.

He took out the two receipts out, smoothing them over a flyer and walking down the middle aisle. He didn’t see anyone, though he did try and glance under the two conjoining booths to the left to check for shoes. Confessional he figured, he knew that much from movies. Venturing closer, he saw the bottom of black robes descending down the stairs.

The lights did not flicker or explode, he was disappointed.

Once the priest reached the bottom of the stairs it was clear this certainly wasn’t the same Father. He was older and black. Not much older, but pushing forties at the very least. The priest had a tired air to him, dull features and hair cropped so close it could have been shaved no less than several weeks ago. “Hello.”

“Heeello,” Dean drawled slowly. He did look a little bit scary. While Castiel had a solemn air about him, this priest took gravity to a whole ‘nother level. “I spoke with Father Castiel earlier.”

“Ah. I’m afraid our Daily Mass has already ended.” They both had that staring thing down pat, but Castiel wasn’t quite so...judgmental seeming. Also, he must be the only person in town who didn’t know who Dean was. But then there had to some townspeople who didn’t attend church.

“Nope, not here to attend. Can you pass this on to him?” He held out the flyer and kept the receipts.

The priest took the papers without looking down at them. “I am Father Raphael.”

“My name’s Dean. Charlie hired me to preach at Roseview.” Did all the priests around here have angel names? He googled Castiel, who apparently was the Angel of Thursday. Kinda funny, actually.

“Ah.” This was as dry as the Sahara Desert at noon. His eyelids drooped lower as his gaze flicked down to the paper. “The church is very important to Ms. Middleton. Her great-grandfather helped build it, you see.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind telling your congregation about the event? Everyone is invited. You’re invited.” Even though their conversation had been perfectly civil, there was something about the man that made Dean want to drink or steal or something.

Father Raphael raised his eye to him again. “The people around here are very traditional. I’m afraid you won’t get very far here. Kansas City might be a more amenable location to different types of Ministry.” He spoke very matter-of-factly and plainly.

Dean thought he would gave him the same courtesy. “Then I guess you won’t mind informing people. Oh, and you might want to preach a little less about brimstone and a little more about not treating other people like shit. I’ve noticed some of your congregation haven’t quite grasped that.”

The priest didn’t react at all to the pointed diatribe except to fold the flyer twice and tuck it into his black robe. “I will give the thought consideration. Good day, Minister.”

“You too, Priest.” He even gave a jaunty wave before turning around and leaving yet another establishment that wasn’t exactly welcoming.

If that wasn’t a gauntlet thrown down Dean didn’t know what was, and he never backed down from a fight.


	4. Holy Crap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean thinks he's talking to Charlie, but it is definitely not Charlie. Castiel learns a little about how size matters.

Dean cursed and resisted the urge to suck on his thumb after it pinched between two pipes. But not knowing the last time these were cleaned stopped that impulse dead in its tracks.

He was lying flat on his back underneath a tiny sink in the kitchen of the church. The water pressure was weak and the culprit could be any number of things. Charlie was running late, which she warned him she might, so he ended up groping the pile by his thigh without looking.

His fingers brushed something too smooth and round to be a tool. It took him shamefully long to figure out it was a shoe. “Oh man, Charlie I’m glad you’re here. Excuse the language, but someone replaced the old pipes with copper and I’m trying to figure out if they just replaced these ones or if it goes into the wall. Can you hand me the six inch wrench?

He held out his hand and waited until cool metal touched his palm. Adjusting for the weight, he pulled it back and checked the tightness high up. “Thanks. So the problem is that you don’t attach copper to galvanized pipes. And who knows how many got replaced? Most people just switch out busted ones instead of doing the whole system because it takes forever. Can you turn down the radio?”

Because working in silence wasn’t Dean’s style, he found this ancient pink radio and dusted it off and plugged it in. The thing worked, which was amazing, but he was still stuck with mostly crackle and the dullest stations. He felt like he was trapped in Footloose or something.

 _Porcelain_ by Moby had been crooning out moments ago, but no use in being embarrassed around Charlie. Sam would have ridden Dean’s ass for the next decade, but there wasn’t any rock to be found. He did have CDs, but of course the ancient machine only played cassette tapes.

“I canvassed the neighborhood around my house, not sure if I mentioned that. Oh no, we talked earlier. Hey, I’m going to try and convince Edith to make pies for this Saturday. If she makes any early, those are forfeit to me. I saw Father Cas at her house too. He’s _hot_ as _sin_.” Hey, he figured if regular Dean noticed Cas was well put-together, gay Dean would find him drool-worthy. “Seriously, he could be reading from an even more boring book and I’d be mesmerized.”

It was quiet for a moment before a deep “Thank you.” broke the air.

Dean sat up too quickly and hit the plumbing, because of course he did, red blossoming in his vision. “Ah _fuck_ , goddamnit!” He laid back and gripped his forehead, he rung his own bell good. “I mean...gosh...and not hot...I meant…” He scooted out but reconsidered sitting up until the pain subsided to merely agonizing.

Blue eyes filled his vision, the priest in question was kneeling beside him and reaching a hand out.

Dean flinched, but fingers merely touched the area just around the spot he hit.

“We all forget ourselves in pain. Are you all right?” He was really close, eyes trained on the likely bruising skin. He ran a thumb along Dean’s eyelid. “Can you look upward for me?”

Dean pulled his focus from the other man to roll his eyes upward. “I’m fine. I’ve hit my head plenty of times.” Or had it hit for him. The vibration was lessening somewhat though. “Umm.. about a moment ago.”

“Did I hand you the right wrench? I could not measure out the inches, but it was smaller than this one.” Cas turned his head away slightly, touching the eight inch wrench. His mouth moved like he was embarrassed, but did priests get embarrassed?

 _Let’s find out_.

Dean picked up the six and ten-inch ones from under the sink and placed them in a row according to size. “The standard set has six to ten inches. This one,” he tapped the small one, “is for small jobs. If you have a big job, you can’t go wrong with ten inches. You know what I mean?”

“I’m...afraid I don’t know much about tools.” He watched the trail of Dean’s fingers along the metal handle.

Dean leaned closer until he was practically talking to Cas’s jawline. “I’m a handy man to have around if you need to learn about tools.” Not a line he would have said to a girl ever, but he was curious how thick he’d have to lay the innuendo down for this priest.

Cas turned his head to stare back at Dean. It left them very close, but it wasn’t as if their mouths lined up. He would have to tilt his head down to brush Dean’s lips.

Not that Dean expected him to. Cas was an actual holy man, one of the ones that weren’t even allowed to touch themselves, he was sure. But Cas showed no signs of embarrassment and won fair and square because Dean sat back first.

The whole back of his neck felt hot, looked like the layman did get all shy and missish before a priest. Dean deserved to be ridiculed.

“I appreciate the offer,” Cas said seriously. “Father Raphael mentioned that you had passed along a message for me.”

Grasping for thoughts, he heard the crinkle of paper as he lifted a knee to get more comfortable. “Oh right, I brought those receipts. If you’ve changed your mind, that’s fine.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out the miserable wrinkled bits of paper and offered them up.

Cas plucked them from his palm and carefully smoothed it out of his knee. He was in all black again, with just a band of white along his collar. A reminder why he wasn’t affected by earthy things.

“I also gave him, uh, a flyer for Saturday. If you could, spread the word.” He almost winced at his use of the phrase. Focus back on track, Dean, focus. “I should get back to measuring these. I think I’m going to replace all of the with PVC pipes, at least whatever we can afford.”

After another unwitting glance at the mouth belonging to Cas, no, belonging to God, Dean carefully leaned back and pushed off with one leg to get further under the sink.

“Would you like my continued assistance?” came the bone-penetratingly deep voice. It didn’t verberate like a bass deep voice, but it was just this close to groggy-rough and it just got under his skin.

“Sure, Father.” He just remembered he pulled out all the wrenches to make dirty inferences. “Can you hand me the six inch again?” It was set in his hand and he went to work. “Thanks. Do you care if I just call you Cas though? I feel weird saying Father, cause mine’s dead. Same goes for being called my son.” It was so condescending too, especially from a man who literally could not be his father.

It was silent for so long that Dean was just deciding Cas up and walked away when he got a response.

“Yes. If it makes you comfortable, you may call me that.”

“Oh good.” Dean twisted, but the damn thing was stuck. “We’re all men of God here, no need to stand on ceremony. Priests don’t call each other Father, do they?”

“We do, actually.”

That’s right, he had called other Father ‘Father’. How confusing. “So what, if you have a whole room of priests you just stand around saying, Father, Father, Father, Father?”

“No, we do use personal names in conjunction with the title. However, friends may be even more informal and drop the title altogether.”

Now that said a lot about Cas and Raphael. “But you call nuns sisters and not Mothers?”

“If she is a head nun, yes. Otherwise they are Sisters.”

“Right, Mother Superior! I’ve watched Sister Act.”

“Sister Act?”

“It’s a movie. Ever see one?” He didn’t mean the question to come off rude, he just thought of them as kneeling and praying all the time. This was one of the strangest conversations he had ever had, and he met a lot of people in his lifetime. Usually in surreal situations. Like this.

“I am able to attend the cinema if I wish.” His voice was a bit stiff now, not quite offended but perhaps awkward.

Dean noted that wasn’t quite an answer, but he did pull back the reins a bit. He didn’t want to alienate both priests, despite his earlier actions. “That’s cool. I think it’s good to see what the kids are watching. You know, see what they’re exposed to.”

Another long silence was his reply, so Dean resumed getting the pipes off without stripping the threads. He’d just take them down to the hardware store and see about replacing these for now.

“That is an interesting idea. However, I have taken a vow of poverty.”

“So what, they don’t pay you guys or something?” What? That’s a sweet deal for somebody.

“A diocesan priest receives a salary. I am an Franciscan, so as parochial vicar in a ministry my intended salary is paid but not received by me.”

Huh. It sounded like Greek, or Latin as it were, to him. Dean set aside the pipes and shifted out from under the sink, very careful not to brain himself again. He wiped his sweaty forehead and stretched. “Well hey, if you ever want to go to the ‘cinema’, I’ll for your ticket, okay?”

Cas nodded after hesitating. “That is very kind of you.” His gaze dipped lower for just a second.

Dean stopped stretching, pulling down the bottom of his shirt automatically. “If you’re sure. I don’t want to be accused of corrupting the priest.” He made himself chuckle.

Before Cas could respond, if he was going to, a door slammed from the other side of the church. “Pastor,” Charlie called, “I’m so sorry I’m late! I had an online appointment and it just lasted forever---oh.” She came around the corner and looked at Dean who was sitting on his haunches and Cas kneeling not two feet from him.

“He was helping me with the tools.” Dean pointed at the pile next to them like he was caught making out by his mom.

Cas rocked forward and stood up in one smooth motion. That took practice. “I should go as well. Thank you, Pastor, for discussing matters with me.” He nodded to Charlie respectfully on the way out.

Dean belatedly realized there was no way whatsoever to get ahold of the guy, if he had any other questions, said quickly, “I’ll be here most of the week, fixing things.”

His footsteps paused, then resumed until the door shut with a loud click.

Charlie was staring at him as if he just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. “What was that?” she plopped down next to him like a girl at a sleepover.

Dean busied himself with wiping the pipes down so he could transport them without having to clean Baby’s interior. “Nothing. He just stopped by to talk.”

Her eyes got big and her smile grew. “You’re blushing!”

“I’m not.”

“You like him.”

“He’s a priest.”

“I know, and that’s hot. I’d tear a nun apart, rowr.” She even made the claw swipe with one hand.

He shook his head. “There will be no tearing apart of anything here. Besides, I’m pretty sure tempting a priest is a first class ticket to hell and a painful one at that.”

Charlie still had the same dopey smile as she shrugged. “It’s not a sin in our religion. I think it’s a bit unnatural anyway, asking any person to forego earthly pleasures. As long as one respects their body and that of their partner, it’s a beautiful Godly thing.”

Dean didn’t know about all that. He couldn’t think of one time he equated ‘pleasures’, with a partner or alone, as being Godly. But then he was an atheist wolf in a holy sheep’s clothing, wasn’t he? And there was the small matter that he wasn’t actually gay. “It was a church matter, anyway. He broke Edith’s bulbs and I replaced them, so he offered to pay back the money.”

He searched for a plastic bag and threw the pipes in them. He could hear the excited patter of her feet behind him like an excited puppy.

“Ahh. Speaking of which, have you given any thought to what your opening sermon will be Sunday?”

Dean froze. If he didn’t work fast, he was going to have to climb that podium and stare at seven, maybe eight if Edith showed up, happy shiny faces and talk about the Bible or something. Faking knowledge was not easy.

She noticed his sudden stillness. “I’m not trying to pry. I’m sure it will be great. I know some get it all written out weeks in advance, but you couldn’t do that, could you? I used to cram the night before because my thoughts are always jumping all over the place.” She let out a breathy chuckle that was more nervous than amused.

He glanced over his shoulder and gave her his most winning smile. “The more of a feel I get for the place, the more I know what I’ll say.”

She smiled and nodded, so trusting. “I get that, I do. Hey, let me take you out for dinner. It’ll help you with your feeling, ha ha.”

“Yep. Sounds great.” He grabbed a list he wrote on a scrap of paper since he was heading up to the hardware store anyway. “I’ll grab a shower after I get this all finished with. Six okay?”

“Sure, I’ll pick you up!” She began to clean up his mess as he head out the door. “Any type of food you want?”

“Best burger in town, Charlie!”

The hardware owner, Gus, was much nicer than the other store owner Dean had the misfortune to have seen twice. Not only did Gus already have a flyer up, he helped Dean get everything he needed in short order. Apparently he had been Charlie’s teacher once in elementary and never stopped being fond of her, according to his constant barrage of words.

“Say, Charlie mentioned there was another new guy in town, moved here a few months ago. She couldn’t remember his name, any ideas?”

Gus threw him an amused glance over his shoulder. “I can’t say I do, but if you’re looking for a date we have some nice homegrown boys.”

Son of a bitch.

“No, I was just asking because...I’m not really looking for anyone right now. I’ve got my hands kinda full.” He thought of a mouth that was maybe softer than it looked and lingering stares. “Are you coming to the cook-off?”

“Oh, definitely. My five-alarm chili is a misnomer, it has at least seven.” Gus winked and read him the total.

“I can’t wait.”

Dean paid the bill with several more crumpled bills and made sure to tuck the receipt in his glove compartment to give to Charlie. He’d probably send a copy to Sam as well to get reimbursed twice. Nothing wrong with that, the money from the client only went to two people anyway.

He did go back to fit the pipes in the sink and determined, with a certain sinking feeling, that if the harder-to-reach pipes would need to be replaced as well. That was not a small project, none of this was.

While locking up the church a man walked up the rose-clogged path. He was in his mid-thirties, dark hair, tan and fit. Dean really hoped Gus hadn’t passed along the message that he was looking for a nice young man. Besides, he wouldn’t date someone balding this young, the man would have no hair by forty.

“Hey Pastor,” the man took the few steps two at a time and stopped with a calloused hand held out. “My name’s Benny Lafitte.”

Ah, the ex-con. “Call me Dean. How’re you doing tonight?”

“Great. I came by to see if I could help out, but work ran late. She says you’re taking a look at the plumbing?”

Dean nodded in some appreciation. He could use a strong pair of arms to help out, someone who might have an idea what each tool was. “I am, but definitely done for the night. Give me your number and I’ll call next time I’m here in the evening.”

“Oh, sure.” They walked to his car so Dean could give him a scrap of paper. It was a good thing he kept a pad in his car, plus he often had to take numbers on a moment’s notice. Something was throwing him off lately though, like his head wasn’t in the right place.

It was the number one thing his father warned him against. Always be on the case, even when you’re not on the case.

Benny did linger after he handed over the paper. “Hey um, I don’t suppose she mentioned my history, did she?”

“Might’ve said something. Why?” Dean adopted a casual pose that was similar to Benny’s partially angled away stance. It helped put people at ease.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re cool with it. Not everyone is.”

Dean knew some people never truly left their life of crime. He also knew he didn’t know this guy at all. But who was he to judge as Dean or gay pastor? “Man, if you want to worship, we got worship. You’re welcome as long as those doors are open, okay?”

“Thanks, brother. Talk to you soon.” Benny grinned brightly as he left down the street, a lighter step to his walk.

Dean smiled at the guy’s back, then stopped. Damn, he had to get out of here.


	5. Holy Cow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a little extra something-something for the chili cook-off. It may or may not go over well.

Charlie looked dubiously at the boxes that had not been there the night before. “What are these?”

Dean peered over with a small saw in hand, levelling off the tables and one pew that he hadn’t noticed was sadly askew. “Boxes.”

She had a hard time not smiling as she stuck her hands on her hips. Over the past several days she had loosened up admirably around him, though the nun comment proved she didn’t have far to go. “I can see that. What’s _in_ the boxes?”

“Liquor.”

“Liquor?! Oh my God. Sorry God.” She looked upward and then back at him. “Why do we have all that? You can’t drink all of it.”

“I’m _not_ going to drink all of it.” Some of it though. He’d been dry for days. “It’s for Saturday.”

“Ohhhh,” she breathed, eyes growing big. “We’re going to serve beer?”

“Amongst other types.”

“At a church event?”

“It’s a community event. You did say we wouldn’t be putting people on the spot or feeling like they had to be in attendance of our church to show up, remember?”

“Right,” she said, “but…”

“No buts.” He put an arm around her shoulder. “This town has a fine tradition of moonshine, you know, fighting against the Prohibition. We’re celebrating the spirit of progress and I don’t think there’s a better way than to get people’s mouth hot, cool it off with alcohol, and have a great time.”

Her bottom lip buttoned up as she looked uncertain. Finally she looked down and away, mumbling, “This must be what the devil sounds like.”

He grinned at her, giving her a squeeze before moving away. “Relax, we’ll encourage moderation and safety. Why don’t you find a reliable sober driver to assist anyone needing it?”

“I suppose I could, but…”

“Excellent. Mr. Hoyt will be dropping off his whiskey samples this afternoon and I promised to run down to Edith’s to price out how much replacing her wiring is going to cost. Just stick around till he gets here.” It seemed prudent to prevent any more cases of exploding bulbs and glass that he had shamefully ran off without helping with. He could claim being distracted, but he would have to further examine what distracted him.

Or _who_.

She stuck out her bottom lip slightly. “All right. Thanks for all the help so far. We tried our best to get the place up and running.”

“You guys did a great job.” He wasn’t lying when he said it. For the most part everything else was done well, the patched up spots were barely noticeable and the walls was painted and furniture was polished. He figured they couldn’t afford to hire someone with more technical skills at the time, no shame in that.

After ensuring she wasn’t going to pitch the boxes like tea in a harbor, he made the short drive to the pretty little house of his favorite new constituent. Edith was tiny but she was sassy,. Besides, she promised up and down that in addition to supplying the prize for the chili winner, she would bake at least three pies to be sliced up and handed out.

Dean hadn’t quite finagled himself a personal whole pie, but he did joke with her that there might be only two pie plates offered to the general public.

He wasn’t joking.

Dean stood against the driver’s side, the sunlight and overhanging branches making wavy shadows on his car. It was a peaceful neighborhood, he could walk nearly anywhere simply if he just took out the time. It was like a hundred he’d passed through before.

Shaking his head, he went jogging up the sidewalk when the sound of boyish yells broke the air. He stopped, looking one way and the other, then breaking into a run to his left.

Another yell, a word forming at the end. “Mom!”

He rounded the corner of the street and halted so fast he nearly pitched himself ass over feet. Two boys were yelling as they ran around a driveway, one younger and lagging behind. No end to his enthusiasm, though, as he tried to catch up with his ‘army buddy’.

They nearly barreled into their mother who was trying to carry about thirty grocery bags into the house. She couldn’t reach the handle and tried calling for her boys, but they’re loud and busy. It’s a scene Dean swore he saw in every parking lot of any store in any town.

“At-TEN-tion!” Dean barked, catching exactly that. Two boys’ arrested face and the shocked face of one mother.

He crouched down, pointing at the ground in front of him. “Poor stance, you two. And poor manners. A real soldier always helps someone in distress.” Keeping the distinct snap in his voice they’d have heard many a time on tv from a drill sergeant, he pointed behind them.

Both looked thoroughly confused as they looked around. The oldest finally cottoned on and saw his mom, still standing there looking as if she had on a poofy skirt made out of plastic lumps.

Instead of moving, the kid looked back at Dean. “Her?”

“Yes, her. Go open the door for her and report back here immediately.”

After a second the boy dashed to pull open the door for her, waited till she was inside, and walked hesitantly back to Dean.

The oldest had dark brown hair with light blue eyes, well-fed but wiry looking. The youngest sported tender brown eyes and wild curls. Nostalgia tried to creep up, but it was squashed immediately.

“You two have been very unobservant. I want you two to grab the rest of the groceries and help her put them away. Ask lots of questions if you don’t know where stuff goes.”

Even though they nodded with varying degrees of understanding, he couldn’t help himself. “You’ve only got one mom. One day she’s gonna be as old as Miss Edith around the corner and she’ll need more than a cane to get around if she keeps doing this sort of stuff while she’s young.”

He waited a moment as they looked at the yard on the corner, obviously having some idea of who he’s talking about. “Okay, dismissed!”

When the two boys scampered to the car the door opened again, and the mother in question looked surprised as they grabbed bags and jostled each other as they went through the door she held open.

Dean waved once to her and walked back to around the corner. He wasn’t dumb enough to think he just changed their whole lives, but maybe it’d come up again in their kid brains sometimes between candy and video games. Everyone needed a reminder that the people around them needed help.

Dean spent the rest of the morning changing out wires for Edith, though his questions about new people moving into town wasn’t successful. Of course Dean came along and everyone knew his business, but not a dad and a little boy.

A horrifying thought struck him as he carried out the trash full of burnt and cracked aluminum. _What if it was the wrong town?_ Sam had been wrong before. Okay, to be fair, not everyone knew who he was. Most of the churchgoers knew and he did have a prominent job, it was good, exciting gossip. Small towns thrived on gossip.

Had he came along with a car and rented a new place, hardly anyone would know enough to spread. But...one group in particular would be interested though.

“Charlie, you still at the church?” he asked once she answered.

“Yes. Pastor, how are we going to move all this to the park on Saturday?”

Dean made sure to say goodbye to Edith and resumed his line of thought. “Benny has a truck. So, are they any ladies groups in this town? Sewing, book clubs, tea time, or something?”

Charlie laughed. “How long _did_ you live in Las Vegas?”

“Ha ha,” he deadpanned. “Isn’t there something?”

“Well, I guess there is the Bowling League. We’ve got two teams of young women, the Sassafras’s and Three-Finger Salute’s.”

“Uhh, great. What night do they play?”

“Monday.”

Shoot. He rubbed his forehead. He should think it’s great news, but he kept hoping and hoping that he could be out of here by Sunday. Nothing was working out the way he wanted.

Sam swore he was sure this was the right place, tracking credit cards and video footage all pointed to this being his last and final stop. It was tiny and isolated, no surveillance to hack into, and one sheriff and two deputies. Dean had to admit if he were hiding out he’d pick here too.

So Dean found himself in Middlepoint Park early on Sunday, setting up tables and taping down paper banners Charlie made up at some point. She really was like a human dynamo, he wouldn’t know how to do half this stuff. Nor want to.

The Judge’s table bore neat nameplates. Pr. Dean Paxton, MR F. Crowley, and John Conner.

Charlie placed napkins, tiny bowls with numbers, and scorecards next to each one.

“Hey, can’t he just travel forward in time and see the winner?” Dean joked as he tapped the last name. “Save us a lot of burnt tongues.”

Charlie smiled and rolled her eyes. “He’s heard jokes like that a million times. He owns the diner we went to, Conner’s Diner?”

“Really? Those did have the best burgers, I’ll admit. Fine, I won’t shove him under the table at any point screaming about the machine revolution. I guess.”

She laughed and moved on to other tables.

Dean concentrated on the alcohol table, making sure that each had its own section, the business cards they were sent with sat within easy reach. It was tempting to nab a bottle before hardly anyone got there. Picking up a squat bottle with a wide bottleneck, he read the label closely, _Pure Old Hartford Whiskey_. It had a vintage design, probably unchanged since the first tubful was poured in the first bottle.

Now that was history he wouldn’t mind learning about.

“You must be the other judge.”

Dean hastily shoved the bottle in his pocket out of instinct, turning to see an older man with more trimmed hair on his face than head. Soft, pouchy skin under his keen eyes, but he wore a suit and that was a first since arriving in town.

“Mayor Crowley,” he held out one hand with two heavy rings.

Dean shook his hand, thinking the man would look more suitable in a mafia ring or a drug deal. Maybe it was the suit. “Dean Paxton.”

Crowley nodded and looked around the large park and all the activity going on. “For future reference, it takes about two weeks to authorize a permit for the park.” He looked back at Dean with a strange smile.

“Oh?” Dean had no idea where this was going and usually he could read people well.

Crowley looked at his neat hands and back up to Dean. “I can pull a few strings and hurry up the process if you ever need it, of course.”

“Well...doesn’t the Mayor sign off on it? What strings do you have to pull?” He was genuinely puzzled by this conversation.

“I’m just saying. If you need anything, come to me.” Crowley nodded and spotted someone he waved to and left the table.

Dean stared after him, head tilting. He wasn’t sure if the Mayor was angling for bribes or hitting on him. Could be both, he supposed. Finishing setting up the bottles and cards, he noticed that while they were talking quite a few contestants had arrived with pots, bowls, and spoons.

Charlie was handing each a small stack of scorecards and looking so happy chatting that he was loathe to disturb her. Her artist friend was setting up face painting under a green canopy, and another person was setting out small bottles, jars or sand, and brightly colored fuzz on corks.

Dean returned to the Judge’s table to meet John and say hello to the curious people stopping for a chat and introduction. Some he recognized from their house, but most were new faces. He closely checked out each young man around his age to see if they matched Lisa’s description until Crowley coughed.

“If you’re looking for a date, my wife knows someone--”

“Nope, no.” Dean was doubly mad he colored up like a schoolgirl. Couldn’t he even glance at a guy without getting accused of scamming on him? He most certainly did not look like a guy who needed to be setup, he could get his own dates damnit.

Apparently the process was going to be that any person could have a bowl of chili while they chatted with their neighbors and returned their scorecard after. The Judges would be receiving numbered bowls and writing down their thoughts without knowing who it belonged to.

He munched on the crackers and grapes beside him, which apparently was to ‘cleanse the palate’ between tasting. They took their competitions seriously.

Charlie had a portable microphone and stood before the Judge’s table when the park was getting full. “Welcome to our first Lebanon Chili Cook-Off!”

The clapping the suitably loud and a few cheers went up. More than a few people in the crowd were drinking from beer bottles or holding small plastic cups with ice and amber liquid.

“Now, the Judges will have final word on who wins the grand prize, but there will be also be winner for Spiciest, Most Colorful, Flavor, and more, so make sure you vote for your favorite! Each scorecard has five categories, please give each a score between 1 and 10.”

Dean looked at his scorecard finally. Yep, it did have five categories, Color, Aroma, Consistency, Taste, and Aftertaste. Great. This was like school. He sighed and made a note at the top reading ‘1 thru 10’.

Charlie continued with a big smile. “The top winner, of course, will get their choice of three tubs of Miss Edith’s cookie dough and yes, it does include her famous Snickerdoodles. The other winners will get one as well.”

A louder cheer went up and Edith, who had her own table with cookies, tarts, pies and other items, clapped both hands to her cheeks in pleasure.

Dean was damn proud of himself for that idea.

“All right, get to scoring and enjoy!”

The crowd began to disperse, but then their trajectory changed abruptly. Most began to veer to the right where the end of the testing tables were. Dean thought they were getting in line at first, but they were making a semi-circle.

A few were heading the opposite direction, guzzling their drinks and beers like their throats were on fire before they even had chili.

Crowley sat back in his chair with an amused look, fingers entwining over his abdomen. “Looks like someone tipped off the clergy. The other clergy, of course.”

Dean stood up, trying to see around the crowd. Unable to see anything he ventured closer, stepping between the many bodies until he reached the inner circle. He wasn’t sure how Crowley knew, but the man was right.

He stood at the edge of the crowd uncertainly, wondering if the priest was here to call down brimstone and fire. Charlie’s voice sounded in the back of his head, ‘ _Liquor at a church event?_ He steeled himself to reiterate all the arguments he had prepared in his head that nobody else had brought up yet.

Cas was in the middle of the eager crowd, speaking quietly to those close enough to him. When his intent blue eyes turned to him, the chatter around seemed to die as if someone hit the mute button.


	6. Holy Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a taste of pain, and of fire. Each burn in their own special way.

No, it wasn’t just Dean. The crowd had actually quieted around them as the priest and the new Pastor looked at each other.

Cold sweat trickled down Dean’s back, though he didn’t know why he was nervous. He’d faced off with big guys, guys with knives or guns in the course of his lifetime. It didn’t make sense that another man, who resonated calm, should make him stop cold.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey Cas.”

A buzz immediately went up like someone punted a bee’s nest. Shit, they thought both were dropping the honorifics because of some religious pissing contest. So Dean pasted on his best smile and held out his hand.

“Didn’t expect to see you here. Are you here to sample some of the town’s finest chili?”

Cas’s gaze travelled over the crowd and to the tables. More than one person hid their bottle behind their back and stared hard at the ground. His attention crawled back to Dean and he remained serious-faced. “I might have to do that.”

People were acting like God had just come down and placed a hand on their head. Excited smiles and relief everywhere, people breaking off from the crowd to go to tables and spread what just happened. He wasn’t sure what they’d say, but it had to come off in his favor didn’t it?

“Father, why don’t you be an unofficial Judge?” One woman lingered near him, a huge old cross resting on her collarbone. “Of the chili, of course. I can bring you a bowl of each.” Her smile was a bit extra friendly, but subtle enough.

“Thank you. I don’t want to take attention from either the cooks nor the judges though.” He never looked away from Dean, head tilted with a curiously unreadable expression.

Dean had to stop standing there acting like he was just as struck by the man’s presence as everyone else. He wasn’t, at all. “I’ll show you the table...Cas.”

Resisting the urge to check if the other man was following, he walked back to the table and slid in his seat before checking. Indeed Cas stood a few paces away from his chair, gazing out into the crowd.

Crowley leaned his head closer, murmuring quietly. “Ah. I see.”

Heat threatened to suffuse his face again, but Dean battled it off as he picked up a scorecard. “Can’t wait to have some chili,” he said loudly. A soft chuckle was his only response.

Charlie came bounding up, slowing when she saw Cas. She didn’t look quite as if she knew what to think. Good girl took it in stride admirably though. “Oh, Father Castiel. It’s such an honor to see you here.”

Cas nodded. “Someone suggested I involve myself more in what is happening outside the Ministry.”

A young man walked by then, couldn’t be much older than twenty one, drinking deeply from a whiskey on the rocks and choking when he saw Cas.

Charlie blushed while the young man beat a hasty retreat. “Well, uh, we’re glad to have you. I should go grab the entries now.” She left at a more sedate pace but no less uncomfortable.

Dean nearly jumped when that deep voice spoke so close to his ear. “I find myself concerned people are not pleased to see me.” Of course someone had brought Cas a seat and placed it right on his other side.

“It’s just new to them. Soon you’ll be part of the background.” Dean picked up a glass of water next to his stack of spoons and took a big long drink. There was a whole pitcher of ice water in the middle of the table, at least it would give him something to do with his hands. He could almost feel Cas lean back and the air felt less stifled.

Charlie brought three of the tiny bowls and set them out. “Remember, set your used spoons aside and take advantage of the snacks in between.”

Dean stared at his chili. It was meaty and just a tad bit greasy, not that he was complaining. As a kid grown on restaurant food, he was sure he’d had enough different types of food to not embarrass himself. He just never judged it before.

Crowley had already tucked in and was writing on the first scorecard in wide block letters.  ‘A dull color with not much variation 4. A hearty aroma that whets the appetite, if lacking in spice 7. On the thick side, high meat ratio 5. As suspected, the ground beef overpowers the peppers 3. No lingering heat 3. Total 22.’

He was going to have to do math too? It _was_ like homework. Dean took a big spoonful and hoped there was enough contestants to fill him up if this was all he got. Upon his lips closing around the handle, the roof of his mouth objected strenuously to the burning heat. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t _lacking in spice_.

He reminded himself several times of the categories because Crowley frowned at him when he saw him peeking. Color, Aroma, Consistency, Taste, Aftertaste. He took a quick gulp of water and hurried through the answers. ‘Dull 5. Good 7. Meaty 6. Hot 5. Lots 8. Total 31’.

Taking another gulp of ice water, he ignored the curious look of Connor and the outright smirk of Crowley. Screw them it was hot. By the time Charlie brought a second set of bowls he frowned at her distrustfully.

This one had a lot of red in its sauce so he was hopeful it was tomato sauce. The Big Cross lady brought Cas a small bowl and Dean was so busy paying attention to him he stuck another spoonful in his mouth without thinking.

Okay, that was most definitely not tomato sauce. The strong taste of red chili peppers filled his mouth, potent and somehow inescapable as he took several gulps of his now empty glass. Some saint refilled it while he jotted down some numbers while Crowley and Conner wrote a goddamn essay. 7, 6, 4, 4, 8; 29.

Dean was less generous with this one because he now knew what pain tasted like.

The next looked promising, though he knew by now that was a lie. Colorful, he gave it a nine. Smelled good, he gave it an 8. It wasn’t greasy or runny so he jotted down 6. By the time he scooped up a tiny portion he was feeling better about this and life in general.

He choked as the tiny amount settled on his tongue and started coughing, but it was too late. It had been swallowed and was about to ruin his life.

Crowley was actually smiling as he wrote. “Impressive, isn’t it?” the hateful bastard said. “Best use of habanero I’ve had in ages. Mmm, I know who I’m going to ask for a recipe from.”

Dean didn’t think he could talk, let alone tell anyone to call an ambulance. He drank down half the water which, if his father’s words were true, just spread around the heat. “Charlie,” he gasped, leaning over to reach for her before she left to get another sample of lava. “Bring me a beer.”

She stopped and looked at him, lips parting in surprise. “For what?” It was the first stupid thing he ever heard her say.

He was afraid to wipe his eyes in case a drop of food got on the back of his hands while he coughed. “To drink! I can’t feel my mouth move. Am I even talking? Can anyone hear me?”

Charlie squeaked and ran off without another word. There were titters and laughter around, and she returned immediately and plunked down three bottles. “I wasn’t sure what kind you might like, or any, are you okay?”

Sweat made it hard to crack open a bottle but he managed, lifting the heavenly brew and drinking it like it held the secret of life at the bottom. He knew people were staring. Maybe shielding their children’s eyes. Dean didn’t care, he was possibly about to die in some tiny bump in the road with its entire population goggling at him.

Once he set down the empty bottle everyone was really staring at him. Not just him but Cas, back and forth in suspended anticipation. Feeling as if he just started blaring porn, Dean risked a look at Cas.

The priest seemed to grow aware of the stares, gaze going from the crowd to Dean and the bottle. He set down his spoon of his barely touched chili and nodded. “Actually, the church does not condemn all imbibing of wine or other strong libations. Moderation is key, but I believe one or two bottles is acceptable.”

Dean immediately opened another and downed at least half before he could talk without puffing out small fireballs. “I think you’re going to have one less judge.” He felt sorry for Charlie who was both resigned and also disappointed.

She smiled tentatively at Cas. “What about you, Father?”

He shook his perpetually mussed head regretfully. “I am afraid I’m not used to such strong flavors. While what I’ve had very good, if I continue I may make a spectacle of myself.”

Dean lost all good will toward him, grumbling and stuffing several crackers in his mouth.

A lot of laughter from the lookie-loos seemed to startle Cas, so at least he probably didn’t mean it badly.

Charlie looked around, worrying at the corner of her bottom lip. “Well, I guess we don’t need three judges, but if we have a tie..”

“I’ll do it.” Bradford stepped between several people, his chin up and steadily watching his daughter.

“Good idea, Middleton!” Another older man patted his shoulder. “If anyone knows chili ‘round these parts, you do!” A general consensus went up that he’d make a great Judge and could handle a bit of pepper.

Dean stood up and gestured to his seat, brushing some crumbs off his lap and taking his one and a half beers left. Two may be acceptable to Cas, but it was gonna take at least two to avoid hospitalization.

Bradford took his seat and greeted Crowley and John like old friends. Charlie brought three bowls for him, explaining which number each belonged to. The festivities continued on while Dean hung by the table just to avoid talk, not to be near Cas, and finished off his bottles.

They went through eleven different chilis, which made it even more insulting when Charlie stood up with the counted scorecards to announce the winner. “We actually have a consensus on which chili is the Judges’ Favorite and the Town Favorite! It’s number three, Miss Dovie Grayson’s Rainbow Rocket chili!” Charlie happily read off and everybody cheered and had a great ol’ time.

Dean swirled his empty bottle as a young woman came into view, the same mother with two boys he had spoken to earlier. At least she gave him an apologetic look as she waved to the other townsfolk and made her way to the prize table with its tubs of cookie dough. Her boys whooped and made suggestions and helped her carry the dough back to her area.

After the other winners were announced and Dean had to stop staring at the curve of Cas’s jaws every few minutes to chat with another person passing by, Dovie approached him nervously.

“I’m really sorry about my chili.”

Dean generously waved it off. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t appreciate it the way everyone else did, seems like it’s the best chili in town.” He flashed her one of his waitress-special smiles.

She got rather flustered. “Right. Thank you. I just, um, came over to, really I came over to invite you for dinner. To say sorry. And thank you, for talking to the boys. They really do need a man in their...not that I’m saying, I mean..” She floundered off, utterly thrown off.

“I would like that. A home-cooked meal sounds great. Just nothing spicy, please.” Even if he couldn’t do anything about it, he could be flattered by her shyness.

“Oh no, of course not. I usually make meatloaf on Sunday. Not spicy meatloaf. Is that, is that okay?”

“Sounds great. How’s six?”

She smiled, then seemed to realize they had an audience of one curious, blue eyed priest. “Father Castiel!” She wrung her hands and looked around. “The offer is for you too. If you attend dinners. Or want to, at my dinner.”

Cas saved her from another two minutes of additional explanation. “I appreciate the offer. I’m afraid Mass begins at five in the evening.”

“Of course it does! You know,” she gave Dean a big eyed look. “I attend Mass too. Do you think six-thirty would be fine?”

“Sure, then Cas can definitely show up too.” Dean grinned at him, not really sure why he reiterated the invitation. He was gratified to see Cas quirk an eyebrow back at him.

“I believe I could make it at six-thirty, thank you Ms. Grayson.”

“Great!” Dovie said, despite looking as if she thought nothing of the kind, and inched away with a wave. “See you two then.”

When she was gone Dean inclined his head toward the other man. “Is she always like that?”

“She has had a rough life.”

They both watched her hug her boys and trip while placing her bowls in a box. One cracked right down the middle.

“Good thing we're having meatloaf and not soup,” Dean said with raised eyebrows. To his great surprise, he heard a collection of sounds that could be a chuckle. But that couldn’t be right.

He looked at Cas and there was a curve to that mouth touched with pink and fullness, especially the bottom lip.

Nowhere near the full curves Dean’s lips had, he’d certainly been complimented enough on his mouth to feel a bit of pride when he gave an outrageous smile and flirty wink. His favorite bit of praise was ‘biteable’. Didn’t understand it till he looked at Cas’s mouth.

His eyes rose and met Cas’s and it was hard to breathe. Damnit, he knew that hot, trembling feeling in his lower stomach. Clearing his throat, he toyed with the empty bottle. “I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for the night. I think I’m about to go.”

Cas tilted his head back as he surveyed them. “Have a good night.”

“Wanna walk with me?” Words he couldn’t stop came tumbling out. “We can talk about more outings for you.”

He considered this for several moments before nodding.

It took longer for Cas to make his solemn goodbyes, but eventually they were leaving the park’s boundaries. Dean didn’t say much at first, because normally he neither walked nor made small talk with genuine members of the clergy.

As he went to shove his hands in his pockets, it hit something heavy and smooth. Oh, the pilfered bottle. Pulling it out, Dean twisted off the top and offered it to his left side without thinking.

It wasn’t until the weight lifted that Dean realized he was offering whiskey to a friar. He stared owlishly at Cas, who was reading the label carefully. Offering a teasing grin, Dean gestured. “Not against the church, remember?”

Cas slanted a look at Dean, that familiar twitch lifting the corner of his mouth. “I have had ceremonial wine before.”

“Drink up then, this’ll knock your collar in the dirt.” He just wanted tos ee if Cas would do it. Ceremonial wine schwine, he wanted to see a Servant of the Lord drink whiskey because if God was real, he was already going to hell.

Cas reached up to touch his collar before dropping his hand and lifting the bottle.

Okay, it’d be a lie to say that it was kinda arousing watching Cas’s throat move as he took a gulp. He did cough shortly, blinking several times at the burn.

Dean held up a hand when Cas tried to hand it back. “Nope, the first person has to drink below the label. See, the neck is short, you’ll be fine.”

He squinted at the bottle and then Dean. “I’ve never heard that.”

“What a shocker.” Dean kept his hands at his side and just watched Cas out of the corner of his eye. It might be pushing it a little far, but that was just who he was. He manfully kept his mouth firmly shut as Cas finally tipped the bottle back and drank several times, gasping after each gulp, to carefully check where the liquid fell.

At an acceptable level he held it back out to Dean abruptly. “Why does one have to drink enough to lower the level past the label?”

“Why?” Dean took a deep drink, the burn treating him much better than anything he ate today that wasn’t a cracker.

“Why? Is it bad luck? For good luck? It is courtesy, customary, or cordiality?”

“Curiosity.”

Cas lifted an eyebrow as he watched him take another long swig.

Dean let out a hoarse breath to cool the burn.“I wanted to see if you’d do it.” He held out the bottle back to Cas and jiggled it to let the liquid slosh loudly. He chuckled as the weight lifted and the sound of deep swallow filled the air.

“You know what, maybe I should walk you home.” Dean considered as they turned down another barely lit street.

“Why?”

“Do you even know your way around?”

“As opposed your five days’ experience of living in town?”

“Wow.” Dean breathed, giving Cas an impressed look. “That was good. You’re kind of a smart ass.”

“Even priests have extracurricular hobbies.” Cas said rather primly, how he managed in that gravelly voice was a mystery. He passed the bottle back.

“I thought you didn’t get out much.”

“No, I don’t attend public places commonly. I have been to at least one house on each and every block we’ve passed. See, that is where Mrs. Montgomery had me bless her husband’s picture after he passed away. And the yellow house at the end, the Coleman family had a fire and St. Michael’s helped raise money to replace their kitchen.”

Dean tried not to smile at the rather pointed tone Cas was throwing his way. He was a little sensitive, wasn’t he? It was good to see him act human. “Ah. Grease fire?”

He took a moment. “Yes, I believe so.”

“So in all that fundraising, did you guys talk about what causes grease fires and alternatives ways to handle it?”

“I--no, I don’t believe so.”

“Do you know what to do?”

Cas turned his head to look narrowly at him, the light above glinting off his eyes. “I know not to throw water on it."

“Okay, but what happens when you’re in the situation? Close your eyes.” Dean stopped walking and turned to Cas, grabbing his shoulders lightly, trying to avoid wrinkling that robe thing.

Cas shot him another narrow look before closing his eyes, lips tight.

“You’re in a kitchen, cooking bacon. You guys eat bacon, right? Okay, anyway, the heat is up, the pan is filling as the bacon curls and crisps. Smells great. You pop outside for a chat or a phone call, maybe have to run to the bathroom. You come back and flames are licking the inside of the pan. The bacon smell is replaced with black smoke pouring into the air, you’re choking on it. What do you do?”

“I’d go for the handle.” There was something uncertain in Cas’s voice.

“Handle’s too hot because you own cast iron pans.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not a savage, that’s why."

The tip of his tongue swiped along his tongue, eyes still closed.

“C’mon Cas, quick, your fuckin’ house is burning down!” he barked, nearly jumping as Cas’s hands rose to grip the sleeves of his leather jacket.

“I’d throw water on it and hope for the best.” Cas sighed and opened his eyes, his mouth twisted in a rueful curve.

“And then,” Dean took a hand off his shoulder and reached to brush those long lashes, just the tips against the pad of his thumb, “these would be the first thing you lose. Not the last, because you’ve just seen the results and never been in the eye of the explosion. Hot oil will consume and destroy everything you own."

His breaths came short and quick, blue eyes never leaving Dean’s. “Is it that destructive?"

Dean hadn’t realized how close they were, his gaze moving over the other man’s face slowly. “It’s like nothing you can imagine."

Time passed in a seductive crawl, only loosening its grip when their hands fell away from each other and they resumed walking in silence.


	7. Holy Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally has to do some Minister work. It doesn't go badly. And he really, really can't resist Cas.

Dean woke up on his couch with a groan. His neck ached and his ankles chafed where his boots dug in. Which was strange, because he hadn’t even drank that much last night. 

Okay, he did kill the rest of the bottle after Cas left him on his doorstep, only a good night exchanged before they parted ways. But he distinctly remembered lying back on the couch, slinging an arm over his eyes, and groaning until thinking of the fact he had a roommate of sorts.

What was wrong with him? It was one thing encouraging a priest to drink, which was apparently allowed anyway, but another to stand right in his space and talk about ...fires. Heat. He touched his face, kinda. Okay, it wasn’t really inappropriate if one just went over the basics.

It felt pretty wrong on his end.

The phone was ringing, he could feel it vibrating someone under him. Turning slowly, he thrust his hand under the pillow then it the corner of the cushions. The buzzing stopped just as it was pulled free.

Sam.

Dean hit dial and laid his head back down. “Hey Sammy.” His throat felt like he tried to swallow a rabid cat.

“Oh god, are you hungover?”

“No. I don’t know. Might still be drunk.”

His brother huffed a laugh. “Same old Dean. Can’t even stay sober for six days.”

“Technically I drank the night I got here. Also, the church doesn’t have a problem with alcohol, did you know that?” He had shucked off his jacket at some point, so that was good. 

“It really depends on the denomination, actually, because--”

“Never  _ mind _ . Hey, what do you know about friars?”

“Uhh. Well, they belong to a particular order. They don’t live in solitude like a monk, I know that, but they still take Vows. You can usually tell which they are by the colors they wear. I don’t know all the details without checking though.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“You asked  _ me _ !”

“And the fact you could answer off the top of your head makes you a nerd. Do you know what I know about friars?”

“Dean…” Sam sighed.

“C’mon, do you want to know?”

“Not at all.”

“I know they wear brown robes, possibly with a rope tied around the middle, and Robin Hood hung around one. Friar Tuck. He was a wise man. He said, and I quote, ‘This is grain, which any fool may eat, but the Lord intended a more divine method.’ “

“No, Dean. Please.” Sam begged. 

Dean finished it with a rousing voice that made his head throb. “ ‘Let us give praise to our maker and glory to his bounty by learning about... BEER.’ What d’ya think about that?”   


"I kinda hate you a little right now. Can I tell you why I called now?”

“Of course you can, Sam. You don’t even have to ask.” 

Sam made a sound that might be the last sound Dean ever heard if his brother finally snapped and strangled him. “Today is Sunday, are you preaching?” 

The statement was so strange that he was lost for a moment. Then it all clicked and he yanked the pillow from under his face and pondered how hard he would have to push to smother himself. 

No, even if he passed out he'd just start breathing once his arms went slack. “Yes.”

His brother laughed for a while, the lout. “I really thought you’d find a way out of it. Stay up the whole night coughing, guzzle Benadryl, maybe break a superfluous bone.”

“Yuck it up. And excuse me, only you have superfluous bones, you would have been perfect as a Minister. Now are you going to stop laughing and help me out here?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sending you over a copy of a sermon to use. I sent over some suggestions for songs, but it’d be best to just ask what they usually sing.”

Dean hadn’t even thought about songs. Their radio was about as old as he was, so what did they use for background music? “Ugh. So what’s the sermon about?”

“The sins of drinking.”

Dean scowled at the phone. “Seriously?”

“No.” Sam snorted. “I already figured it would make you sound like a great big hypocrite. The actual topic is Inclusion.”

He nodded, deciding that did sound pretty good. He could do that, cause not judging other people sounded like something a gay religious guy who likes beer would say. Assuming anyone even came after yesterday. “Hey, before you go, any thoughts on other ways to draw this guy out? It’s really hard asking around about men without looking like a creeper, thanks for that.”

“Hey, we couldn’t send you in as a Fed. If he catches even a whiff of cops, he’ll run.”

“I remember, jeez. So, thoughts?”

They brainstormed for a while and Dean felt good by the time they hung up. It was a pretty solid plan, he had to give his brother credit for that. He copied the body of the email Sam sent onto writing paper and looked at it for a while. Maybe nobody would show up.

 

_ Everybody  _ showed up.

Okay, that was a slight exaggeration. Dean arrived early to talk music with Charlie and to see if there was any way he could observe his first weekend. He  _ would _ have brought it up that is, but Charlie was so damn enthused about their first service with their Minister.

Back to their attendance. 

So from six people, minus him and Charlie, to the first three rows filled. It was an average of two people to a pew as he guessed before, so he was peeking out at twelve people from the back. Maybe more soon, because it was still five minutes until ten.

“This is so great,” Charlie whispered. “That’s double the attendance already. I’m so glad you applied for and accepted the job.” Her expression broadcasted gratitude and hope.

He looked away and leaned against the wall, rubbing his face all over. Then he stepped around the corner and walked up to the podium, fingers smoothing over his dark green top. He chose a button up and charcoal gray trousers, the nicest clothes he owned period. 

“Welcome to Roseview Church. I know this is a first for some of you, so we have that in common.”

A few smiled brightly, all dressed in their nice clothing and giving him their undivided attention.

“We’re going to start this service with a musical selection, a favorite here,  _ One Thing Remains. _ Charlie will be playing the guitar and raising her voice. Please follow along by using the lyrics packet in front of you.” His shirt clung to his back, thanks to sweat dampening his skin.

Charlie came out with a stool and a guitar and led the small audience with a song he couldn’t focus on long enough to do more than move his lips soundlessly. 

When it came time for him to stand up, he cleared his throat and held the papers so tightly he could feel it crinkling.

“Today I call to your attention Romans 8:37 through 39.” He waited patiently as people opened their bibles with whisper-soft rustles and shuffling off feet. “ ‘No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Wow, okay. Thanks, Sammy, this didn’t sound crazy at all. Angels and demons, really?

“I want you all to sit and think about what that means. After all, you're not here because you have to be. This is not an obligation or a burden, but a celebration. And anything celebrated in fear leaves no room for joy. If your children came to visit you because they felt they had no choice, I think we can all agree that is far from a pleasant journey or destination. The conversation will be stilted, the connection muffled and distant.”

Edith nodded along to that, leaning over to pat the hand of Dovie. Her two boys next to her kicked their feet and stared off but that was fine. At their age Dean would’ve been a lot less well-behaved.

“That is not what kind of visit your Heavenly Father wishes. That is not the type of phone call He wishes to receive at your dinner table or bedside. He know we all have bad days where the laundry is a nuisance and it's canned stew for dinner because we've got nothing else to give.”

“If your soul isn't singing, don't grudgingly give empty words because you think you have to.”

Charlie was watching him from the side, eyes wide with either disbelief or awe, one of those two. 

“Now what sort of praise should you be giving on a daily basis? Take a look around you. Those are your neighbors and your fellow people. You can't always stop and talk with them, true, but you can always understand they are as loved as you and I. They are loved by God, by their own parents, spouse, friends, children, whathaveyou. Everyone, whether they're sitting by you in church or passing you by in the street.”

Ahh, the inclusion part was becoming more clear, even to a heathen like him.

“When you are struggling, remember in the earlier passage, Romans 8:33 and 34. ‘Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who then is the one who condemns? No one.’ There may be no end to His mercy, but that doesn't mean yours never has to begin.”

It went on, but he had to admit it sounded pretty good. A bit preachy, but then look where he was. They sang again and he stared at the lyrics this time, the packet was printed out music sheets stapled together.

He wondered why this was so important to Charlie. She was going through a whole hell of a lot of trouble to get this off the ground. If she wasn't paying most of his salary, he’d eat her battered guitar. He felt distinctly uncomfortable when they passed around the money basket and busied himself speaking to Dovie when she approached him.

Her short blonde hair looked smoother and she had kid gloves on with a purse that matched her summer dress. At least she wasn’t so nervous, merely saying it was lovely and she would see him at six-thirty tonight.

When it was all said and done and he was waving the last person out, he turned around and saw Charlie. She was just standing there staring at him, making him want to apologize for such a farce.

She burst into tears. “That was beautiful, thank you. Thank you, thank you.” She hugged him tightly and he looked everywhere else, patting her upper back. “It’s so hard sometimes to remember that.”

Crying female made his syntaxes shut down. He patted her shoulder again and when she stepped back, he smiled gamely. “I’m really glad you liked it. Um, are there...any therapists in this town?”

She wiped her eyes on her teal sleeve, she was not a woman given to soft colors. “I think so, why?”

Dean moved to sit on the smooth wood of the pew, crossing one ankle over his thigh. “Look, I mean, this is great.” He gestured expansively with one arm. “But I think you got a lot going on in your head. I saw you with your father last night.” It was like the joy slowly leaked out of her every time she had to pass him an entry bowl.

Charlie rubbed one arm, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I just wasn’t expecting to see him. At least he didn’t try to talk to me afterward, huh?” She tried to laugh it off. 

He knew that look.

“Charlie, what happened between you two?”

She finally sat down next to him, leaning forward so far she looked hunched. “I came out to him when I was eighteen. He was...not surprised. But he still tried to talk me out of it. Asked if, um, I was sure, if I just hadn’t met the right boy. That this town could be small-minded, it would go easier for me if I just hid it. But I know that he was just trying to do what’s best for me.”

“Fuck that,” Dean said sharply.

Her head turned toward him quickly, wan face startled.

“C’mon. He should’ve said, hey, we’re going to go through a lot, but I’m here for you. Everything else was ignorance and fear. He was supposed to love you the most and he really fucked it up.”

She wiped a few tears from the corner of her eye, sniffing. “I don’t think anyone has ever said that before.”

Not even you, he didn’t say. “How bad is it here, Charlie?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. It isn’t terrible, nobody’s jumped me in a small alley or anything. I’ve had a few girlfriends, but one is married now and the other moved far out of here. The older I get, the less I think that I’ll ever find anyone again though.”

“Not unless you leave here.” 

“Yeah.” She stared hard at her hands.

He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Think about what I said on the therapy.” She only nodded and they sat together in the empty old church for a bit. “Hey, what do you think of my idea for next Saturday?” 

Her face, though tear-streaked, lit up immediately. “I love it! We have bingo regularly and the occasional raffle, but never a Casino Night!”

Dean whistled as he walked home, feeling pretty good about the day. It wasn’t the best one he ever had, that would go to Susan Rose and her clever tongue, but it didn’t crash and burn either. 

He stripped the nice clothes and pulled on jeans, a green undershirt and a cream long-sleeve over it. Then he buttoned it all the way up. Unbuttoned it. Buttoned it. Finally he just unbuttoned it halfway to stop looking like a striptease on loop. 

At six-fifteen he left Baby on the street, walking to Dovie’s for no good reason. Just wanted to stretch his legs was all. 

Of course he arrived early, getting to witness Dovie pull up and usher her two boys inside with an apologetic smile his way. “Hi Pastor! I’ve had dinner cooking so it should be done soon, don’t worry you won’t be sitting around waiting all evening.”

Before he could even get a word in she disappeared in the house, screen door bouncing behind them. Shrugging, he followed her into the neat, sparse living room.

Whatever else was going on, the air was filled with fantastic smells. That was seasoned beef roasting and gray, and was that? Yes it was. That was peaches. “Can I help with anything?” he called just outside the kitchen.

“No, no, just take a seat. Please ask Father to do the same when he gets here.” 

Dean sat on the long couch that had seen quite a few Presidencies. The boys had scampered upstairs to wash up, which meant they would play in their rooms until their mother reminded them to shake a leg.

He was always jealous of anyone who lived in an actual house.

A polite knock on the door sent him rocketing to his feet, tugging his collar and slowly opening the door. If he thought Cas would look any less attractive while he was sober, that theory just got shot to hell. 

“Hey Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” He tilted his head back slightly as their gaze locked.

Dean had met plenty of people who had a habit of staring at people. He couldn’t say if it was Cas’s good looks, intense blue eyes, but it heated him in entirely different ways than anything so mundane as nerves.

“Why don’t you come in and take a seat?” He took a step back, going to sit on the couch first. Which did turn out to be a mistake, as Cas took a seat in the middle. It was clear protocol to sit on the other end, that left Dean tried to inch his knee away without being obvious.

“How was your first service today?” 

“Yeah, good. Yours? Service, not the first part.” Oh god, strike out his tongue and leave him mute. He never got tongue-tied. 

“Uplifting.”

Dean stared at the tiny table in front of them; it didn’t have any magazines. He looked around the place again, noticing a lack of defining characteristics. Oh, there were several pictures of the boys at varying degree of ages, but that was all. He wondered how much had belonged to her late or absent husband and if it was stored in the attic or basement.

“Just ‘uplifting’. Is brevity your secret power? Does your services last thirteen seconds?”

Cas folded his hands over his knees and raised his eyebrows. “When I do a service, it’s thought-provoking and methodical. It lasts long enough for everyone to be satisfied, I can assure you.”

Dean felt an answering tug to his mouth, even though Cas was the soul of austere. “Now that is a promise I can get behind.” 

Cas’s eyes narrowed a moment, as if understanding something was being unsaid but not sure the nature.

Dean let his gaze linger over that unsmiling mouth with its hints of promise. “I am sure you’re worth kneeling for.”

Just as Cas was moving his mouth to make a comment that may or may not have involved the dawning look of comprehension in his eyes, Dovie came out wearing a white apron and pink cheeks.

“Dinner’s ready. I’m so sorry for the wait.” She looked between them, rather curiously.


	8. Holy Hemostat!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas are stuck at dinner together. Stuck is really a strong word for what's going on though. Bonus points to anyone who knows what the chapter name is from! :D

Dean followed them both into the small kitchen. His mind kept turning around the other conversation though.

There was something naughty about flirting with a priest. Delightfully naughty. Maybe that’s all it was, just the taboo of being on a level with a person that wasn’t allowed by any definition. Yep, that’s what it was.

As the tantalizing scent in the air promised, his plate was piled high with two slices of moist meatloaf, creamy mashed potatoes topped with brown gravy, and crunchy green beans. She was a fantastic cook and he prepared himself to dig in. Until…

“Uh, who wants to say Grace?” Dovie looked between Dean and Cas with an expectant air.

Dean paused with a forkful of meat nearly to his mouth. He looked pointedly at Cas, who was unfolding his napkin and laying it in his lap.

The priest straightened out the napkin and looked directly at him with one raised eyebrow. Is that how he wanted to play it?

Dean thought of the one time Sam asked if they could say pray before a meal and his father acquiesced. He bowed his head and said clearly, “Grace in the kitchen, Grace in the hall, please God, don’t let them get it all. Amen!” 

Dovie choked on her water as the boys both giggled, turning laughing eyes on him.

He smiled at the priest to his left. “Is there anything you want to add?”

“No, I think that is all that needs to be said.” Cas loftily picked up his fork and cut into the meatloaf.

There wasn’t much chatter as the plates emptied except Dovie asking her sons how their day was. It was summertime so they had exciting tales of hanging out with Claire and Greg from across the street. 

“Is everything okay?” Dovie asked once the conversation with her sons wound down.

Cas was the first to respond, as Dean had a mouthful of potatoes. “Yes, thank you. I find your cooking far superior to my usual fare.” 

Dovie nodded with bright eyes. “Oh, thank you. What do you usually have?” Then her lips retreated to press together. “You don’t have to answer that, I’m sorry Father.”

He shook his head. “It’s all right. I’m afraid my dinner’s are usually quite sparse. I do have a well-rounded meal of bread, vegetables, and meat, but this is very sumptuous and tastes wonderful. I appreciate the invite.”

Dovie jumped to her feet so fast even her kids looked up in surprise. “I forgot the rolls! I made buttermilk biscuits. I’ll fetch them now.” She turned around and quickly filled a plate with biscuits from the oven, squeezing them in between water glasses on the table. “Stop it, let the...the guests have them first,” she muttered to the boys who reached out eager hands.

“I think there’s enough to go around,” Dean said graciously after grabbing two. They were huge and, as he bit into one, fucking delicious. He kinda wanted to marry her on the spot. They even had a priest right there. “Can I take a plate to Charlie? This will cheer her right up.”

“Wait, what’s wrong with Charlie?” Dovie asked, in a sharper voice than Dean knew she possessed.

He struggled to swallow his huge mouthful. He took a swig of water before daring to speak. “She’s just been a bit down. Today cheered her up immensely though.” Having some idea what small towns were like, he didn’t want to say anything that could be twisted by well-meaning, or not, tongues.

“I wasn’t sure, she did look tired yesterday. I didn’t want to ask though.” She pushed a bit of mashed potatoes around her plate.

A slow suspicion wormed its way into his mind as he listened to her careful tone. “Did you two used to be friends?”

Instead of jumping with guilt, a sad crease furrowed on her brow. “Yes, in high school. We were best friends. But she stopped talking to me just before we graduated. I probably said something stupid, you know how teenagers can be.” She talked down her plate the whole time, the words spilling out steadily like it was just waiting for a crack.

Cas wore his solemn expression with the weight of sympathy. “Perhaps if you spoke with her you two could clear the air. Even if your friendship does not resume, it may answer questions you’ve carried with you all these years.”

“Yeah mom,” the youngest piped up, “you said when Frankie threw his spoon at me I should tell him how it made me feel.” 

Dean really had to learn their names. He was sure she called each by name at least twice earlier, but he was so damn busy staring at Cas.

“Thank you, James.” Dovie smiled and leaned over to ruffle his hair. “And thank you, Father. That is good advice. It has been bothering me for a long time.” 

The facade of gentle cheer could fool most people, but the faint air of distractedness she wore for the rest of the evening was a symptom he had seen many times. Maybe the two never dated, but one or both had certainly wanted to. 

Given the patchwork of information he did know, his guess was Charlie pushed the other girl away because of angst and the other never had the nerve to discuss the attraction. He bet himself ten dollars this was the case.

Once the meal was finished and round two of compliments were given, he carried his dishes to the sink and began to rinse them. Easily sidestepping her protest, he got into the repetitive motion of scrubbing and rinsing.

“I’ll dry those.” Cas stepped beside him with a faded dish towel in one hand. 

It was a rather companionable silence as dish moved from hand to hand and put away. The clinks and squeak became the background of their short glances. 

He was Icarus, flying too close to the sun and Cas was Lot’s wife, itching to turn back to see all she was losing out on.

When the last dish was put away, Dean looked at the clean sink and had nothing to occupy his hands. 

“Really, you two didn’t have to do that.” Dovie was there again, filling the space with her hospitality and lack of tension. 

"Thanks for the meal, it more than made up for my regrowing tastebuds.” Dean patted her shoulder as she offered a polite invasion of his space to give a half-hug. 

She didn’t offer one to Cas, even though she didn’t seem to know what to do in lieu of hugging. “And thank you, Father. I’ll see you at Saturday Mass next week.” 

“It was my pleasure.” Cas folded his hands in front of himself and nodded. He walked after Dean, both ended up standing on the porch in the last vestiges of the sunset. Much like last time, their directions were opposite of each other.

“I could walk you to the church,” Dean offered because his mouth didn’t know how to stop moving when a thought entered his head.

“No, I don’t think so.” Cas said slowly. 

Dean shrugged uncomfortably and stepped off the porch to head toward his place then. He heard the footsteps fall in step beside him and he gave a bemused look to Cas, who was looking straight ahead.

“If you got lost on the way back to the church, I would be suspected of foul play. Jealousy, I’m sure, would be the accusation.”

Dean snorted. “Surely if you were desperate to control the religious power of the town, you’d have offed the other Father long before this.” But he smiled a bit and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

They walked for several blocks in the oncoming gloom before Cas spoke again. “Why did you decide to become a Minister?” 

Dean was kinda shocked he even believed it still. Or maybe that was somewhat wishful thinking, that Cas would just stop believing Dean was something he wasn’t. 

In answer to the question, he settled on truths that were as close to the surface as possible, they were easier to remember. “Following in my father’s footsteps. I grew up traveling with him from one place to the next, absorbing all that he was. I guess it’s in my bones by now, I wouldn’t know any other way to live.”

It was true and depressing all at once to know that, save for the career, that was all true. He’d never settle in a ridiculously tiny town like this or a big city either. He had no idea how to do a regular job.

“My father is an Archbishop. In Rome.”

“Oh.” He rolled his shoulder to loosen them up and sent a measured glance over to Cas. “So I guess you’re in the same boat as me, huh?”

Cas sent him a look that clearly said the answer was no. “I felt a Calling.”

He made a considering hum in the back of his throat. “I thought you guys weren’t allowed to marry or do stuff to have a kid. So how is your Father a Father?”

“A man may be ordained at any point in his life, even after he has had a wife and children.” The slight upright manner he spelled that out said something that didn’t want to be said.

Dean didn’t like talking about his mother passing away either. He let the silence stretch out for a small amount of time out of respect. “So why’d you ask about why I do this?”

“I don’t know.” He fidgeted with the crease of his sleeve. “Maybe I am jealous. It sounds like you’ve explored many regions and cities, helping people.”

“Settling down isn’t so bad either. Why did you decide on Lebanon, got family here?”

Cas shook his head. “No. I wanted to join a parish and this is where I was assigned. I did prefer the small population at the time. Now I wonder if there is more I can do.”

“Well, there are lots of ways to help people, plenty of other types of jobs.” Dean slowed down as they reached the fence that hid the back entrance to his rooms.

“I meant a larger parish.” 

“Oh.” Dean patted his pockets for his keys, staring at the shine off the window from a street lamp. “Or that.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open, expecting a quick retreat like last time.

But no, Cas just kept standing there, hands loose at his sides and waiting.

“Did you want to come in for coffee?” Not that he had any. He usually grabbed a cup from Conner’s or Charlie brought him one because she had dealt with him once without it. And that’s all it took.

Cas stepped inside once there was room and shook his head. “Not this late.”

It wasn’t even eight, but since it all worked out he wouldn’t comment. “A glass of water then?” As he walked to the kitchen he started immediately panicking inside his head as he casually reached over and stuffed all the fake paperwork he picked up from the post office in his duffle bag. Luckily the gun wasn’t right on top.

“Yes.” Cas looked around for seating, finally just taking the sofa when none others could be found.

Dean brought him a glass of water and sat as well, on the other side as proper. It wasn’t really a big couch though, so their knees bumped as he got comfortable. “So a larger parish huh?”

“Perhaps. But maybe my dissatisfaction has been coming from my lack of involvement. I have Blessed many items in the town, but I have never been to a social event.” Cas looked thoughtful as his gaze lingered where a tv should have been. Probably for different reasons than why Dean did.

He wanted to ask a million things. How did Cas grow up? What did he do all day?  _ Why was he here _ ? Because Dean had been in this position a thousand times, girl sitting on his couch and having this soft uncertainty about where the night was going. 

More likely than not, he’d solve that for her lickety split.

Cas wasn’t exactly broadcasting such a thing, but there were hints of tension when he shifted one hand to his knee and back on the armrest. Or heck, maybe the guy just didn’t know how to have friends. Maybe it’d been over a decade since he hung out with anyone just cause. That would make the two of them.

Drawing in a deep breath, Dean angled so he was closer to facing Cas. “Have you ever hung out with a member of your parish late at night?”

“Sometimes, if they have a need. I stood up most of the night in a vigil with--”

“Okay, okay.” He held up a hand. If he heard all about what a Saint Cas normally was, Dean would lose his train of thought. “For fun. To talk. Without anyone having a crisis of conscience.”

Cas’ mouth closed quickly, his brow furrowing. “I can’t say I have, though I have ‘hung out’ before. I’ve spoken extensively with the other brothers.”

“About religion?”

“Mostly. It’s a valid topic of conversation, Dean.” Now Cas was looking pricked again, kinda like Sam when he first detected teasing. 

Had to get back on topic. “I’m just saying.” When that didn’t get a response, Dean pushed a bit. “It’s not against my religion to covet another person.” See, he could use language Cas might understand.

“Covet another person? Like own them?”

“No. Like sex.” He manfully resisted the urge to smile at surprised blink in response.

“Oh,” Cas said quickly, “it’s actually not against doctrine to have desire, it’s the activity itself that a priest Vows to not pursue.” He spoke so earnestly, the importance of correct definitions was strong in his one.

“Well, I don’t have that problem.” Dean said shortly before leaning forward. He went slow though, sure Cas would realize and bolt, or least dodge. Instead he got arrested blue eyes that were uncomprehending. Pushing his weight forward, he curled a hand on Cas’ shoulder.

When he still didn’t move, Dean did what he wanted to, unconsciously, since first meeting him. He kissed him. The brush of their mouth was tentative at first, then the pressure firmed. Cas hadn’t reacted one iota, good or bad, so Dean swiped his thumb along Cas’s neck as he tilted his head.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that before parting his lips and sliding his tongue against Cas’s lips. 

An involuntary shudder and gasp on Cas’s part allowed Dean to just stroke the inside of the other man’s mouth. The shoulder muscles were tight under Dean’s palm, no mistaking it for anything but masculine. He tasted slightly of peaches, sweet and mellow, and the moment Cas moved his tongue along Dean’s his grip tightened.

He couldn’t help it, the light touch sent a wave of heat that made him groan in the back of his throat.

Cas pulled back suddenly, blue eyes far more startled than any point he had seen before. Then he stood up suddenly and walked to the door.

Dean didn’t say anything, just turned and watched him go. He wasn’t sure what to say, he crossed a line for both of them. The difference was, where his line was much simpler than the man who was allowed to look but not touch.

Fuck. He rubbed his face with one hand and went facedown into a cushion.

At least he didn’t fall asleep on the couch again. He woke up in an actual bed, phone clutched in one hand. He lifted it above his head with blurry eyes, shying away from the light when he turned the screen on. 

It took him a moment before he found and jabbed the green Call button with his index finger.

“Sammy...I’m going to hell.”

His brother sounded chipper and awake, if a bit confused. “You don’t even believe in hell.”

“I know. I can’t go there because I’m already here. Lebanon, the Center of the USA and Entrance to Hell. I should get a stake and redheaded lesbian friend. Wait, no, already have the last one.”

“Okay.” Sam was nothing if not used to random phone calls and being dropped in the middle of a conversation he didn’t start.

Dean got up and took the phone with him into the bathroom, setting it on speaker next to the sink as he washed his face. “I feel like I’m on the ass-end of time. This place doesn’t even have a rock station. But I  _ can  _ listen to static and feel my skin melting.”

Sam laughed at him, because Sam had no damn soul. “It’s only a few more days. The Casino Night will work, I’m sure of it. In the meantime, go to the bowling thing tonight. Who knows, you might be leaving by tomorrow.”

“I thought that last week,” he grumbled under his breath. It was just a job, he didn’t know why it was bothering him so much. An intense blue gaze popped up in his mind, and he shoved it down. “Yeah, yeah. Next time though, I’ll stay in the city with clubs and mid-day traffic and you get cow country.”

“Sounds great, I could use a vacation.”

Dean hung up with a scowl, even though that was a pretty good comeback. 


	9. Holy Jeans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wants to talk to Charlie. Gus wants to talk with Dean. Dean does NOT want to talk with Crowley. And at the end of the day, he finds someone who is going to talk with him.

Dean finished brushing his teeth and cleaning up before looking in the cupboards for cereal. He stopped by the grocer again since their odd showdown, but it was a chatty little blonde behind the counter.

He made sure to stock up because the other store with a decent amount of food was on the other side of town. Which made it all of twenty minutes away, but clearly being able to walk anywhere was affecting his sense of distance.

The rest of the morning was spent at the church, avoiding the whole pipe matter because it would take longer than a day. He didn’t want to leave any more unfinished projects than he already was, if need be.

Charlie brought him food during her lunch break, amused at his obvious enjoyment of the burger from Conner’s. “I told him no hot stuff.”

“Mmph,” Dean grumbled around a mouthful.

“They have a new item on the menu.” Charlie led in, grinning widely.

He squinted at her as he chewed, noting the wicked gleam in her eyes.

“It’s chili.”

He swallowed the bite, taking a big noisy slurp of his iced tea. He didn’t like tea as a rule, but it seemed very Minister-ly.

“Called Angel Slayer.” She couldn’t contain herself any longer and laughed with delight, slapping her thigh and having a great ol’ time.

“Hmm. He should’ve gotten Dovie’s recipe. I could’ve asked her last night.”

She stopped laughing. Immediately, she began to pick at a nonexistent loose thread on her sleeve. “I think he has his own recipes.”

“I think he’d like hers. Since I’m busy, can you drop by there and ask her? It’d be a ton of help.”

“I _really_ don’t think John needs it. So what do you think about the ceiling? We painted it, but is it fine for Casino Night?” She was bad at changing the subject. Probably made a horrible liar too.

_Let’s find out._

“She asked a lot of questions about you,” he threw out casually.

Her mouth moved like she was going to comment, but in the end she merely shrugged.

“Don’t worry, I’d never tell my friend’s ex about them.”

She started, words sputtering out. “Wh--we never dated, Dean! Pastor. We were just--I mean, we just barely knew each other anyway, once, not barely knew, it’s a small town. Anyway, what did she ask?”

Dean examined the chisel in his hand as he chipped out some old caulk. “I don’t remember now.”

She gave him a look to rival his brother’s best bitchface. Her chest expanded like a fluffed up bird, but then she deflated with a desolation.

He took pity on her because he was just that kind of upstanding guy. “She asked how you were and said that you looked tired at the cook-off.”

“Oh. Well, hmm.” She made the non-committal sounds while still staring at the ceiling.

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you seriously been in love with her since high school? That’s dedication.”

Color rose up from neck to face so red it nearly matched her hair. She puffed up again and left to clip back some of the roses so newcomers didn't trip and get lost forever.

 

Attending Bowling Night had been a tactical error. A massive lapse of judgment. His own. He forgot most of these people had known each other their whole life.

That meant _he_ hadn't heard their stories yet. But he knew more than enough about them two hours into the crowded affair, people of all ages running around with bar food, sodas, and beers.

Dean finally hit on something interesting when he jokingly asked a member of the Men-o-Strikes if they saw many people move in at all. At the end of a five-year update on her own life she finally got to the latest move-ins. “My best friend's niece saw a young man at the furniture shop buying a mattress. I remember she commented on it because he had this little car filled with boxes. Benny probably lent him rope, he works there part time. Not many other people would hire him, though I did hear he got a nice job doing street maintenance.”

He could have kissed her round cheek, finally, a solid lead. He wanted to run off and call Sam immediately just to celebrate, but had to hold off. Instead he stayed for another solid fifty minutes to chat and finish a soda and a slice of pizza that one team shared with him.

Knowing he’d either see or call Benny the next day, he drove back home and was patting for his keys when he noticed a light was on in his living room.

Perfectly aware that he didn’t leave it on, he casually walked back to his car and felt for a small pistol under the seat. Shoving it at the back of his jeans he unlocked his door as normal.

The intruder wasn’t subtle. In fact, he was sitting on the couch.

“Crowley?” Dean raised an eyebrow. At least his hunch the guy was shady turned out to be correct.

The older man turned in his seat, nose wrinkling slightly. “You drink a lot for a Minister.”

Dean grated a sigh and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “The chili was licking at my brain like the hounds of hell. I thought I was gonna die.”

“Actually I meant the impressive array of beer and liquor bottles hidden in your cupboard. Planning on dumping it outside of city limits?” Crowley had a way of talking that was both pompous and knowing, when he didn’t know anything at all.

Okay, so he was right on the dumping thing.

“What are you talking about? I’ve been here for a week and a half and all of it fits in a grocery bag. Either that counts as excessive in an one streetlight town like this or you’re grasping at straws for some reason.”

The Mayor leaned an elbow against the armrest and looked wholly unimpressed. “Hmm. Shall I call you Pastor? Or Agent? Chef, Professor, Officer…”

Dean still his tongue moving in a swallow. He quirked an eyebrow in confusion and snorted. “What are you even talking about?”

“Oh you’re good.” Crowley stood up to his paltry height and wandered closer, but not too close. “A real professional liar. So rare in this one streetlight town.”

“Kay. You sound crazy. Maybe you should get out while I remember I’m a man of peace,” Dean said gruffly. He knew he was made, but if his dad taught him anything it was _deny, deny, deny_. Should probably do more of that in other areas of his life.

“I just want to talk, Dean.”

“Get out or you’ll be sweet-talking my boots, Mayor McCheese.” Dean jiggled his work boot by the heel and jerked his thumb toward the door.

Crowley looked him up and down with a sneer, straightened out his collar, and walked solidly past Dean to let himself out. Out the tiny window Dean saw him turn sharply once past the fence and disappear out of sight.

Scowling, Dean sat on the other side of where the disturbing man did and stared at the ceiling. This job had given him more trouble than any before. He did call Sam, even though he was much less enthused about relating the news than before. He didn’t know the furniture store, but Sam was good at finding out those types of things.

“Just so you know, there is a good chance their security cameras are two handycams duct-taped in the corner, leading to a VCR.”

“I dunno what any of that means.”

“It means there’s nothing I can hack into. You up for a B&E?”

“Great. Why don’t I take up smoking and shooting up too? I’ll blow my cover in a hot minute.”

“Oh I’m sorry, Reverend Jerk. Just wait till Saturday then and pray.” This time Sam hung up, sounding quite smug with his own cleverness.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered as he went through the tiny rented rooms to pick up. He did tend to lay waste to any place he was staying longer than a night, but rarely did he have someone break-in. Crowley had unnerved him more than he let on, who knows how long he had been there?

On the plus side, apparently Crowley had came armed with information on who Dean actually was, so it wasn’t as if he was going to find anything other than that.

Dean left his copies of Big Booty Latinas in the trunk anyway.

The place didn’t have a television, so he pulled his ancient laptop on his lap and aimlessly perused the internet for a while. Cat video, cat video, religious ads. At some point he did get up and make a bowl of canned stew and treated himself to several of Edith’s cookies.

Confirming through text Benny would be at the church tomorrow, he didn’t have much going on that night except sleep. And thinking. Sleep it was.

And he kept right on trying to not think into the next morning. His first stop of the morning was the hardware store, so early that Gus was just stumbling out of his Lancia Prisma with wild hair and puffy eyes.

“Hey, you got coffee in the back?” Dean jerked a thumb at the still locked door.

Gus grunted in the affirmative as he pulled out a key ring the size of a small child’s head and squinted at the numerous keys. Finally inserting the right one into the lock, he opened the door and didn’t say anything as Dean followed him through the door in the back.

“Have a seat if you want. A cup for you?” Gus didn’t sound awake yet, but he poured water into the clunky brewer and filled the top cup with ground beans without missing a beat.

“I’d appreciate that, thanks.” Dean breathed in the wonderful aroma of coffee brewing. “Do you have any extra of those Casino posters? Charlie said she’d drop some off with you.”

The other man had wandered toward the fridge and peered in aimlessly. “Hmm, yeah. I’d say she gave me a couple extra,” he said dryly before disappearing out the door. He returned with a stack about half the size of a ream of paper. “I can only spare a few though.”

Dean chuckled at the sarcasm and took the top of the stack, maybe thirty papers total. “I’m going to go canvas on the north side of town. I did the west last time.”

“You’re really determined to get the word out there, aren’t ya?”

“That’s my job.” He grinned, finally having his hands wrapped around a nice hot mug of precious caffeine. The aroma was everything that he needed in life right now. So caught up in his enamoration, he missed what was being said. “Wait, what?”

“I’m sorry if it’s too personal.” Gus rubbed the back of his neck, looking discomfited.

“No, no,” he reassured, “I was simply inhaling the smell of coffee. Go ahead and ask, I’m an open book.” He smiled as he sipped the hot liquid. Which, in retrospect, was a dumb idea.

“You’re gay, right?”

Dean choked a bit. Not because he had no idea people thought that, everybody thought that. Still strange to be asked it straight-out, no pun intended. “I do have an eye for the, uh, men, yes.”

Gus nodded, fiddling with a container of powdered creamer. “How did that, like, work?”

He stared. “Well, when a man loves a man very much…”

Pink-cheeked, the rough hewn man waved a man. “No, not that.” He chuckled, the brevity seeming to help. “I mean, why did you become a Minister then? The two aren’t a widely accepted combination.”

Oh man. He wished he had Sammy type up something for that. Why did this case have to involve a kid? He couldn’t just say ‘fuck it’ and walk away because he was uncomfortable sometimes. “Uh, you know, that’s a good question. One I’ve answered before, because people wonder that sometimes. It may not make sense at first, but it’s true to me.” He babbled on like an idiot because words wouldn’t stop and he was still thinking.

Gus nodded, holding his cup and looking genuinely interested.

Okay. Okay think. Why did anyone live the way they lived? “I don’t always know, man.” He shrugged. “I was raised to this. I had a choice, sure, but I just fell into it because that’s the path I was on. It’s not a bad life or anything, but sometimes I’m jealous of what other people have. A home. A family. They don’t always have to fight. I mean, I’ve seen more danger than most people ever have short of a shitty neighborhood or other life-saving careers. But that’s the thick of it, I guess, is if I can help even just one person, it’s all worth it.”

Dean blinked and looked at Gus, half-forgetting he was there or the question.

The other man had a strange expression, one he usually didn’t see directed at him. “That does make sense. That makes total sense. I mean I liked your sermon, I really did. But that was real in a different way, you know?”

Dean couldn’t help but give a proud nod. “Thanks.”

“And,” Gus said decidedly, “if you decide you like it here, it’s not a bad home to have. And, oh, if you’re looking for a little companionship, I know a few people.”

Dean sighed.

He did end up leaving with caffeine running through his veins and a few extra tools along with the flyers. It was still pretty early, which was perfect. He drove up to the side of town of the furniture store. Sam had sent an address already, cause that man was a genius. Or had easy access to store listings, whatever.

Dean climbed out of the car in front of the closed shop, noticing the bright green papers already all in place. Damn that woman worked fast. What did she have at her disposal, a veritable army of flyer-placing elves?

Nonetheless, he went down to the next house on the street and knocked. So it began, the endless rotation of knock, wait, possible open door and quick chat.

Yes, there would be prizes and chips. No it wasn’t technically against the law, the buy-in would be at the door and they’d be entered into a raffle. Fifteen dollars for the chips, and they’d be entered into the raffle no matter what.

Yes, it would be at the church. No, it was not still covered with thorny vines. The flowers did bloom, they were beautiful.

It wasn’t until house five-billion that a young man with dark hair answered the door. Brown eyes, just a few inches shorter than Dean. He matched the description. Of course, he wasn’t the first guy to match the quite average description...no way to check if he had a tattoo on his upper back without somehow getting his shirt off, and even Dean wasn’t that good.

“We’ll have childcare offered as well,” Dean said after a brief discussion on the details of the raffle and chips and all that.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” The guy, ‘Jeremiah’, laughed. “Good to know though.”

“Mm hmm.” Dean tried to inconspicuously peer past him to see if there were any hints or proof that a young boy might live here.

“Uhhh, everything okay?” Jeremiah tilted his head and blocked Dean’s view.

He recovered smoothly. “Yeah. Do you know where Roseview church is?”

“The address is on the sheet, right?” He held it up with a bit of a smirk.

“Small towns can be difficult to navigate sometimes. Lots of twisty streets. But I bet you’ve lived here all your life, huh?”

The guy who may or may not be a kidnapper chuckled. “You’re that new Minister, right?”

“Yep.”

“I thought so. Hey, I’ll see you there.” He grinned, looking Dean over.

Dean had no choice but to say thank you and take a step back as the door closed. The problem with crazed stalker liars is they were very good at hiding who and what they were. So he had no idea if this was his guy or a guy who _wanted_ to be his guy.

He did continue to canvass the neighborhood, but each young guy didn’t quite fit the picture each time. Needless to say, it was a productive morning, but not for _him_.

The same thing happened at the church later. Resigning himself to being there the whole week, the Great Pipe project began. The place sorely needed it, whoever had worked on it before just replaced busted pipes and didn’t do it properly to boot. He’d need to take out all of them in the tiny, cramped space of the utility room standing right next to the hot water heater.

And what was worse, Benny had no idea who the guy was that came into the shop he worked part-time at. And Dean couldn’t ask the guy to maybe look at some receipts for him.

By the time Dean drove home, the sky was full of angry black clouds and rumbling ominously. It looked ready to dump some Old Testament hellfire down on the tiny town. He got inside and checked his sills and doorsteps. No more disturbances.

Tonight he pulled out some frozen loaded potato skins and made himself a loaded meat sandwich. “I’m gonna need a bigger mouth,” he chuckled as he surveyed his handiwork. That was a sandwich.

There was a reason why he hit up almost every Food Challenge restaurant nearby while on the road. A young man just had a big appetite for all things. That brought his thoughts back around to certain careers where a man wasn’t allowed to have an appetite for anything good in the world.

 _Shut up, brain._ _You too,_ he directed a look at his jeans. He didn’t need input about soft, firm lips and blues eyes so deep a person could drown in them. He just didn’t. Instead he focused on the loud patter of heavy raindrops thudding on the roof and walls of the place.

A loud knocking interrupted his cleaning of dishes. He looked skyward, hoping against hope it wasn’t Crowley again. The man made his skin crawl, not with fear but disgust. Little men in little places who thought they knew what power was.

“Hold on!” he called as he unlocked the door. The rain was coming down so hard he could barely make out a blurry dark shape on his back porch.

Cracking the door open, his heart stuttered to a complete halt at the sight of a drenched priest outside of his door.

Castiel’s hair was plastered flat and he had to blink rapidly because of the rain. “I’m having a crisis,” he said flatly.


	10. Holy Underwear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is having a crisis. Dean...doesn't really help, if we're all going to be honest here.

Dean threw open the door all the way and took a step back, already a walking nerve. “Did you walk here in the rain? Get in.” 

Cas came in and stopped just past the threshold, water running in rivulets down his face and sticking to the black material literally encasing him from neck to toe. It was very distracting.

A pool of water spread from where he stood to the tip of Dean’s boots.

Damn, whatever Cas did in between praying and preaching worked for him. He  _ had _ thought the priest was trim and maybe even physically weak, but those shoulders were not bony. Neither were those thighs.

Pay attention, Dean!

“I hate to say it,” on so many levels, “but you gotta get out of those clothes unless you plan on seeing Heaven soon.” 

Cas just stood there for a moment, his gaze lost for a moment before focusing again. His hands rose, long fingers opening the sodden buttons in the world’s slowest strip tease. 

Dean licked his lips unconsciously as he watched him before dragging his attention elsewhere. “I’ll get some...towels.” Towels, that was it. 

He practically fled to the bathroom to grab the largest of the options and came back out, clutching an armful to his chest. 

Dean wore several layers himself, but as Cas pulled off the long-sleeved layer to reveal a black shirt underneath, he cursed every manufacturer of tees everywhere. 

After setting aside the jacket, which was attached to that robe-like bottom, Cas looked down at his shirt. “All of it?”

Dean’s mouth went dry. “Just down to the skivvies, man.” At the priest’s blank look, he elaborated. “Your boxers? Holy underwear?” 

Cas looked perturbed for a moment. “This was not planned.”

_ A shame,  _ Dean kept to himself. “Well, it’s happening now. Strip.” 

He curled his fingers under his dripping shirt and peeled it off.

The guy had muscles, Dean thought in efforts to do something other than stare. It was unsuccessful. Dean wasn’t skinny at all. Toned shoulders and arms, the muscles of his abdomen ridged and somehow touchable. 

“Uh. I brought towels.” He held them out jerkily, not exactly looking away from the the other man’s chest.

Goosebumps had raised all along that skin, not pale, rather a few shades shy of golden. Did he go outside the church with no shirt ever? 

The image of that sent his thoughts skittering somewhere along the roof. Not quite in the gutter, but tipping precariously close.

Cas took the towels and began to dry his hair and upper body, leaving the short dark strands even messier than normal.

“Do you want to use the bathroom?” Was that Dean’s voice? It came out in a rasp and sent embarrassed prickles through him.

Cas looked up from his ministrations. “Yes, thank you. Do you have a change of clothes I might borrow?”

“Uh huh.” Dean couldn’t help but watching Cas walk from the porch to the bathroom, swallowing hard because Cas was about to undress in there.

He shook his head hard once the door was closed. Damnit, he was acting like a fourteen year old about to grab his first sweater puppy. Who knew why Cas was here? 

Maybe he was here to read Dean the riot act for profaning that holy mouth with his own filthy lips. He said crisis, not  _ perving on you the way you are me. _

“Not to hurry you, but any time you’re ready,” came the muffled call through the bathroom door.

Dean looked ruefully at his tight jeans. Yeah...yeah he was ready.

Oh, the clothes. Jumping to it, he searched his duffel bag and pulled out an old AC/DC shirt and two pairs of jeans to take to the door. He knocked first and shoved the clothes through the door when it creaked a few inches open. “Let me know if they don’t fit.”

Then he threw himself on the couch and tried desperately not to stare at the door. Get a grip, man. Why was he so affected by this guy he met like a week ago? 

Dean wasn’t exactly a Casanova, but travelling did lend itself to more opportunities with short flings. Some women knew what they wanted and a second date wasn’t one of them. He was always upfront at first and considerate during, everyone should have fun during the only few hours they had together.

This was on a whole different plane. Would he be feeling this way if it were a religious she? That answer was impossible to know, but he did know there was something about this one. He just didn’t know what.

Cas finally walked out of the bathroom wearing the band shirt and the jeans, hair still a dewy mess and barefoot. 

Dean shifted, his back straightening and arm somewhat shielding the spike of blood pressure that travelled straight to his groin.  _ Down, boy. _ “You clean up good.” 

“I was already clean.” Cas sent him that familiar look lacking understanding.

“No, I...never mind. I’ll take your clothes to get dried.” He’d have to go into Heddy’s house, but luckily the laundry room was right next to the conjoining door. He grabbed the half-robe and ventured into the bathroom to pick up a thin shirt and pants.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” 

Dean managed a smile, stalwartly trying to keep his eyes above the neck. It was just...he looked so different in plain clothes. And yet not at all. “No problem. I’ll be right back.”

Once safely in the laundry room, he shoved the clothes in the drum and turned the knob to On. As the steady whump filled the air, he took a deep breath. Dean could handle this. The man clearly was upset, he’d sit, listen, offer neutral advice, give him back his dried clothes and forget it ever happened.

Maybe with a bottle of that moonshine. He kept staring at a leftover box in the church. It wasn’t a far walk. 

He blew out a deep breath again and opened the door that led to his space that felt all the tinier because of his guest.

Apparently it had given Cas time to think, because he was staring at his hands even when Dean sat next to him. His lashes banked most of the blue from sight, mouth occasionally twitching as if it might open to produce words. But he remained quiet.

“Hey, nobody will blame you if you come to Casino Night. You can pretend it’s not gambling like everyone else.” Dean put on a crooked smile, resisting his impulse to touch the other man’s chin to get him to raise his eyes.

“Gambling is not a sin.” Cas was using his bone-shiveringly deep serious voice, making his reproval a reason to sin.

“What, really? You won’t get in any trouble?”

“No. I will not get in any  _ trouble _ .”

“So drinking and gambling isn’t a sin? I feel like I’ve heard nothing but lies about the Catholic church, seriously.”

“Most actions are not actually bad, it’s the intent or timing surrounding it.” Now Cas seemed to be settling into his own skin, shoulders unhunching and his posture not quite so bent. He was meeting Dean’s eye and explaining confidently.

Dean nodded while leaning back to stick his elbow over the side, putting on his listening face. “So what seems to be the problem then?”

“I can’t get you out of my thoughts,” Cas said slowly.

He had to squash the smile that immediately formed, warmth flooding through his chest. Well. Then he reminded himself this is not a time to make a flippant comment. “I know the feeling. But I think that--” His words halted.

Cas was leaning forward, one hand splayed on the back cushion as he kept going, eating up the space between them. But he had to stop, a scant few inches between their faces, because Dean was lounging so far back. Cas’s gaze never wavered from his eyes until dipping to his mouth.

This was it. This was the moment where he either laughed it off, got up, or stood still so long it got awkward. And he didn’t want to do any of those things. The warmth had turned into heat, spreading in molasses-slow drips as the air trembled between them.

Dean closed the space between them.

Cas’s lips were just as firm and yet soft as before, parted slightly and tasting of spearmint and rain. His hand settled on Dean’s shoulder to hold his weight, the pressure of the kiss increasing.

That slow drip of heat was coating him entirely, every inch of skin hyper-aware of movement and touch. Dean settled one hand on Cas’s waist, thumb skimming the skin under the thin fabric. He had no idea what he was doing, despite being in similar situations ever since teenage years. 

Straightening up just so Cas wasn’t practically balancing on top of him, Dean swiped his tongue along the minty-tasting lower lip.

Cas’s breath froze a moment, fingers curling hard where it rested on his shoulder. He seemed as directionless as someone who had never done this before. Which led to the thought; had he, before he fully dedicated his life to never having it? 

Dean stroked just inside the pliant mouth in slow dips, dlipping further in in slow increments until Cas parted his lips further, breath coming in short pants. Then he slid further inside, the first touch of tongue against his causing a hand to fist the front of his shirt.

Clutching him like a lifeline, Cas pressed closer until their chests met in a solid line and his thigh was just on the inside of Dean’s. At first he just experienced the administrations, but soon his tongue tentatively curled around the exploring one.

Dean never felt shivers run down his back and arms before the way he did when Cas first began to swirl his tongue in turn, not playfully but deep and needy. He peeked an eye open, a spike of want shooting through him at the look on Cas’s face. 

It was passionate and lost, holding nothing back. 

Dean smoothed his fingers over Cas’s neck, skimming up to his jaw and cheek, beginning an endless route of touch as their tongues twined together.

Finally Cas broke the kiss and settled his weight on the couch as he pulled off his shirt.

“Woah,” Dean tried to chuckle but it came out as a shudder. “Ahh…”

Cas held the scrap of cloth in one hand now, watching him. “It seemed it would get in the way.”

Damnit, Dean hadn’t felt red creep up his cheeks in years, he was a grown man. It was increasingly difficult to focus on why or what he was going to say. “Cas, how far do you want to take this?”

Cas looked at the shirt, the couch, up and down the body in front of him. Jeans hid a lot, but they weren’t a space pocket that swallowed up all evidence. “I want to touch you.” 

The deep voice dragged along Dean’s already heated skin like a physical caress. It would be rude not to oblige a guest, wouldn’t it? 

_ Don’t short-circuit now, brain _ . “Yes,” Dean managed. Damn brain.

Cas reached out with one hand, fingers splayed against the bottom of Dean’s shirt. He tugged up slowly, giving him plenty of time to raise his arms. The air seemed colder against his abdomen and chest, as he was now also shirtless. Cas’s fingers were warm as they trailed from the shoulder he had gripped so hard before, along the top swell of Dean’s chest.

Avoiding the center, the path continued along the crease just under the left side of his chest. Three fingers continued over the shallow ridges of his stomach,  Dean had softer lines over his stomach than Cas, diners and fast food padding the muscles a bit. 

The firm press of fingers rose again to drag over one nipple, causing the muscle to jump. Cas’s eyes rose to his face, deliberately dragging a thumb over the bit of flesh. When the same jump happened, Cas shifted forward to place his mouth over the sensitive skin and licked. 

Dean hissed and touched the drying hair, running his fingers over the soft strands aimlessly. This was torture, he’d tell anybody anything they wanted at the moment. Not that he wanted it to stop. 

When Cas’ head moved to the other side he groaned, trying his best to not yank Cas against him and sink his tongue back into that hot mouth.

All the while Cas smoothed his hands over his waist and stomach, sliding around his back and occasionally brushing the top of his jeans. When he finally pulled back his lips were reddening and wet, pupils dilated with hazy pleasure. 

“Let me return the favor,” Dean rasped out, hand dropping from the retreating head and ghosting along his shoulder. 

The dark head moved once up and down, still a bit dazed. It was different touching the flat planes of a chest. Much like his mouth, underneath was hard but the surface was smooth and warm. 

Gently pushing Cas back so Dean could settle between his knees, he used his palms and thumbs in addition to fingers as he explored the taut expanse in front of him. And when he laid the first kiss it was along the dip of Cas’s shoulder, moving much in the same path as his hands. Minutes dragged on before his tongue outlined one hard bud, taking his sweet time before stroking over fully.

Cas tensed beneath him, fingers biting into his shoulders. He didn’t stay still nearly as well as Dean, shifting, legs moving around Dean’s side before going slack again. His short breaths were occasionally punctuated with hitches and groans. 

“Please,” Cas ground out, rubbing the outside of his arms and shivering feverishly. 

Dean smiled against his skin, tip of his tongue teasing the edge of dark pink. “Please what?” But even as he said it he laid one hand over the seam of the borrowed jeans, thumb skimming just under the surface.

Cas looked up at him with slightly widened eyes, chest expanding as he drew in a deep breath. It was a little desperate, wanting, and all  _ hot _ . 

Easing one button open, Dean held eye contact as he lowered the zipper. The fabric beneath was still damp from the rain, but the heat of it was scalding against his palm. 

Cas pushed his hips against the touch, groaning and finally pressing back against one of the hundred patterned cushions they hadn’t managed to push off yet. 

Dean realized his hands were shaking. Was it nerves or arousal, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t feel nearly as strange as he would’ve thought before this, about to grab a guy in ways he’d only grabbed himself before. But he went slow and measured, half because Cas was already a mess, biting his lip and tensing as if they were doing more than touching, and half because it felt...important. 

Folding back the boxers, black of course, Dean did one inch at a time to reveal the swollen head and thick underside of his cock. That was a two-hander he judged, tilting his head as he kept peeling back the cloth.

For a moment it seemed as Cas was going to belatedly gain some modesty and cover himself up, one hand moving to his hip.

Dean solved that problem by stroking his thumb along the bottom ridge, where the skin made a tight triangle just below the head. All hints of unease left the other man as he said something that was either gibberish or a different language.

“That’s it,” Dean leaned closer to lick the skin of his shoulder, it tasted slickly of salt and rain still. “Just relax.” His voice seemed to have an effect, as Cas was no longer death-gripping his arm and his thighs loosened again.

Dean slid his palm down the wide length, gripping it loosely the way he himself liked it. “I’m going to go slow.” He did, rubbing his palm along the silky skin without much pressure. He didn’t curl his fingers around until enough moisture leaked that his fist was slick with it.

Cas didn’t stop groaning, clenching the cushion so tightly it would have left bruises on skin. It was considerate of him, actually. His chest rose and fell rapidly, stomach tensing without cease.

“I’m going to keep doing this,” Dean murmured against his neck, “until you finish.” He increased the speed of the pumps as the seconds crawled by, wet sounds filling the air even louder than their mingled harsh breaths. “Let go, it’s okay.” 

“Dean,” Cas choked out before his head fell back and his back arched. A splash of liquid heat caught his chest, but most of it painted Cas’s chest in milky stripes as his hips jerked into the fist encasing him.

It wasn’t until the last bit dribbled out over his fingers that Cas relaxed, all the breath whooshing out and going as slack as the rest of him. 

Dean was practically lying against his side as he watched the lashes lower and lips part in deepening breaths. Even at peace the priest looked thoroughly debauched, hair wilder than normal and pools of come coagulating all over his chest and stomach. 

He slowly pulled his arm from under Cas’s shoulder, adjusting himself as he stood up. He went into the bathroom to grab a hand towel, because that was thoughtful, right? Probably more thoughtful than shaking Cas awake by rutting against his hip. 

Not that it would take more than a few seconds, Dean thought, glancing down at the wet spot that had soaked through the thick denim. He walked back in the living room, amused at the sight of the other man still lying how he was left.

Dean wiped his bare skin thoroughly, catching most of it before it dried. Cas didn’t stir once, one leg on the couch and the other hanging over the side. 

Once he got both legs on the couch, Dean looked down at the prominent bulge that still wanted some attention.  _ You’re just going to have to wait _ . 

He grabbed the now dried clothes out of the laundry room first, carefully folding each piece and setting it just above Cas’s head. Not much to do about the boots by the door, hopefully they didn’t get too wet on the inside.

Even though it felt strange, he figured he’d take the bed and hope Cas didn’t wake up and started freaking out. 

Dean didn’t feel freaked, he felt keyed up still, but it was a shallow layer over the exhaustion just under the surface. The rain still beat a rhythm softly above his head, and Dean double-checked to make sure Cas was still lying there before retreating to the bathroom.

Turned out Dean was right, it only took several strokes before he spilled himself dirtily into the same cloth he cleaned Cas with. Fast and desperate or not, he felt shaky afterward and collapsed on the bed without undressing.


	11. Holy Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whole lotta matchmaking going on, but some are more underhanded than others.

The sun was cheerfully shining through the slats in the blinds, birds were singing, and he was alone in the house.

Dean wasn’t surprised to find the couch empty in the morning.

And hey, no need to make more of it than it was. Cas was probably curious about certain things and judged Dean to be willing and, most importantly, discreet. Either that or the guy put on his innocence act for every curious guy and lonely housewife in the area. 

And with that voice and appearance, it certainly would be successful enough.

Either way, he couldn’t be too put-out there wasn’t a second go around. 

Certain parts of him were very disappointed, but it didn’t have the best judgment anyway.

The floor around the ground was dry and cleaned as well. The only evidence it all happened was a crumpled towel on the top of the dirty clothes in the bathroom. 

Dean stuck a frozen breakfast bowl in the microwave, checking his phone occasionally. Mostly for any news from Sam, it’s not like Cas knew his number anyway.

It was a weird walk down to the church, the day was bright and colorful and normal. He felt restless though, his phone a heavy lump in his back pocket. Normally when chatting up potential lovers he always worked into the conversation that he was leaving town in a few days at most. That way there was no mystery, no uncertainty. 

But now he was stuck in this poky little town for at least four more days, if not more, and he couldn’t ask for an encore with a short text ending with a winky face. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted another try.

Okay he did, but it was complicated.

Charlie was at the church already when he got there, setting up the foldable tables and stackable chairs in the space Benny and he cleared yesterday. “We’ve already got twenty people calling to reserve a spot for Saturday night,” she called cheerfully as he entered the main area.

“That’s great.”

“I know, it’s amazing. I’ve been so afraid to plan any real events before this because I was  _ so  _ sure nobody would show up. Now I see that I had nothing to worry about.”

“If you build it, they will come,” he quipped as he helped carry small stacks of chairs next to the tables. Not the exact quote, but the original didn’t fit... Plus it sent his thoughts scurrying into places they didn’t need to right now.

“I guess so!” She took each individual chair and settled two on opposite ends of each table. “What made you so knowledge about small towns?” she teased.

“Eh, every small town is the same to some extent. Nobody wants to sit at home and hear exciting gossip secondhand if they can be there to witness it. At least half are showing up to see who else will be here.”

“I can’t tell if that’s accurate or cynical.” She tilted her head with a smile, pausing in her energetic pace.

Dean shrugged. “I think accuracy is relative, but I got it from observation alone. I always thought cynicism comes from bad experiences.”

Charlie made a considering noise as she resumed dragging boxes into the room. She knew exactly where she wanted the tablecloths, playing cards, and all the extra accessories. It was pretty impressive, he actually had been to Vegas a few times and she was doing a pretty good job. 

The mixture of new-looking and worn items gave it an amateur feel that a little church event it needed.

“Have you ever gone up to one of the Casinos here?” There were only three, but they did have them.

Charlie shook her head. “No, once I was old enough to go I was already living on my own and had bills. For this I Googled games, and a surprising amount of people around here have stuff they used for poker nights.”

“People are full of surprises,” he mumbled as he carried a huge box of chips toward the front podium.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Keep it under control, Dean. He changed tactics. “Dovie’s been showing up a lot. Has she called about Saturday yet?”

Charlie shrugged quickly, though her wince betrayed how much she was probably checking her own phone.

“Maybe you could call her and emphasize that we’ll have childcare,” he suggested leadingly. He didn’t know why, but he really wanted to see those two really reconnect. It seemed like a shame they were just casting figurative moony eyes about each other while refusing to actually try.

“What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously, casting him a look.

“Um,” he hedged, “just trying to help.”

She placed her hands on her hips, gearing herself up. “Look, even if she were secretly interested, which I doubt highly, I couldn’t do that to her.”

“What, lesbian stuff?”

“No,” she turned even more red in embarrassment, “date her. Walk around the town, eat at a restaurant while holding hands. Trust me I’ve tried it, and even the people who don’t care in a bad way watch you. If we were in a different place maybe the ratio would go the other way, but here you’re a freak show.”

“Really? People here are always trying to set me up.” Well, a few did.

“Yeah, so they could have a new show.” Now Charlie sounded bitter. “Nothing to watch on tv? ‘I hear the gay couple in town are heading down to the watering hole, let’s go’. I get it’s worse other places, I really do, but there’s no privacy here. The whole town has eyes, and they never  _ sleep _ .”

She heaved a great big breath as she finished, taking a seat on one of the plastic chairs. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she stared at the ceiling.

Dean pulled a chair up next to her, sitting backwards on the seat with arms loosely folded over the top. “I wasn’t trying to push you, I’m sorry.”

“I know. And it’s okay. As long as I’m single, the attention is kept distant and manageable. As long as I’m not gay with anyone, the subject mostly stays buried under a veneer of superficial disinterest.” 

Dean wasn’t sure what certain words meant, but he could manage from the context. She was wordy when she got upset. “Why don’t we finish up and call it a day? You’ve got a few meetings later, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Charlie dragged herself out of the seat and helped him set up a small lockbox for money and move the prize tables to the front.

Their conversation rattled around in his head as he mowed the lawn for Edith. Yeah, he guessed it would be impossible to pursue anything except a stolen few moments with...people. The edge of surprise that he fooled around with a guy last night dulled with the knowledge it couldn’t be anything more than a fluke.

Trying to think of anything else, he emptied out the clippings and pushed the machine to Heddy’s. Nobody insisted he had to do the chores or even asked him, but the labor was useful on several levels.

A good honest sweat, his father always said, kept a man out of trouble. Of course his father’s idea of honesty was suspect at best, considering their line of work. Good intentions aside, it was still a career based on a whole lotta lying.

Speaking of lies, he hadn’t heard anything from Crowley and that made him nervous. Nobody was casting him narrow looks yet, so the information must still be a secret. 

After he was finished with the front and back lawn where he was staying, he made the walk back to return the mower. Except as he got nearer, he eyed the corner of the street. He bet Dovie hadn’t any time to keep up with her yard, as small as it was.

Having no set thoughts on what he might say to her, he rolled along the corner to her house. Of course there was no car in the driveway. He started up the mower anyway, noting the length of the grass. Guess he couldn’t do everything with ulterior motives.

But as he took care of the last strip along the edge of the lawn, she was pulling into the driveway. She seemed surprised and delighted as she climbed out of her car. “Thank you, Pastor! You didn’t have to do that.” She shut her car door and walked up the edge of the grass.

He noticed the backdoors didn’t open and peered at the car for signs of the two little scamps.

“Oh, they’re at a friend’s.” Dovie followed his gaze. “We try to do a lot of playdates in the summer, since there aren’t many programs when school’s out.”

“Ahh.” Dean plucked at the shirt moulding to his skin. He was going to need a shower after this, there was no place on his body that wasn’t sticky with sweat. “Can I talk to you? But not on your couch, I’m filthy.”

“Sure, we can go to the back. Do you want some ice water?”

He accepted and followed her inside and through the backdoor. The yard was nearly as small as the front one, a tiny wilted garden in the corner. 

“I have a bit of a black thumb,” Dovie explained as she came out the door and handed him a glass. “I keep trying every year, but I guess I’m just not a very good gardener.”

Dean suspected two boys who didn’t understand that their mom was trying to grow food had something to with it, but said nothing as he downed half the glass. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand once finished. “You haven’t called about Casino Night yet. We’ll be more than happy to give you a discount on the chips.”

“No no, I’ll be there. I figured I’d drop in. Unless you need the number for how many kids there will be. I didn’t even think of that!” She wrung her hands anxiously.

Before she could start banging her head or closing oven doors on her fingers, he tried to reassure her. “It’s fine. I’ll mark you down and everything will be okay. I just thought you might call Charlie and catch up after letting her know you’ll be there.”

Dovie looked up quickly, shrugged, and generally fidgeted before answering. “I’ve just been so disorganized lately.”

It was refreshing to see people so bad at lying after all the experiences he had. He couldn’t help but smile. “I never did grab an extra plate for her. Hey, why don’t we come over for dinner tonight about six so she can experience your delicious cooking?” 

She immediately seemed torn. He was hoping her innate sense of hospitality would win. 

Dovie worried at her bottom lip, staring at the dying plants in the corner. “She probably won’t even want to come. It’s been a lot of years.” 

“Why don’t you let me worry about that? Besides, she was so happy to see you show up on Sunday.”

“Really?” The hopeful tone in her voice couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. Man, they were really gone on each other after all this time. It was kinda sweet.

He finished the last of his water. “Oh yeah. So it’s a plan tonight?”

Dovie hesitated before nodding slowly, hands twisting together again in her lap.

He stood up and headed inside to put his glass in the sink, saying he’d see her later before pushing the full mower the short distance to Edith’s. He could almost feel the eyes on his back before he disappeared around the corner.

Now that half was done, he dialed Charlie. “Hey, I just found another Texas Hold’ Em set we could use. Practically brand new.”

“That’s great! The one we have is pretty beat-up.”

“Yeah, but they won’t be home till six and I promised Heddy I’d help unload her car after work around then.”

“Oh, I can get it, no problem.” 

“Okay, but make sure it’s at six, they have big plans shortly after.” He told her the address and waited for an reaction. When she didn’t immediately squawk in protest, he smirked at his own cunning. He hung up before she could ask anymore details.

She’d probably be mad at him once she figured it out, but hopefully the night went so well all that would be left is gratitude. Or he’d have an extremely irate redhead staring him down at church at some point tomorrow.

Well, surprises were the spice of life.

Walking away from Edith’s house with a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies, he munched away as he neared Heddy’s. He really had promised he would help unload her car, she was bringing craft items or something to make several sets of toys for Saturday. He just fudged about the time it would happen.

After moving her boxes into an extra room, he made his way down to the laundry room and opened the conjoining door. 

And immediately decided surprises were not the spice of life, they just sucked.

“Crowley.” He stopped in his kitchen, making a disgusted face. “I thought we talked about this. Something about kissing my steel-toed boots.”

Crowley chuckled from his seat on the couch, folding his fingers together. “We really didn’t get to talk the other day. But I’m always giving people second chances.”

“I’m not,” Dean said shortly and scanning the room for his bag.

The Mayor held up a finger, a smirk growing on his bearded, punchable face. “Before we go in the same circles, I thought I would introduce an compelling argument for you to listen.” He fished inside of his jacket, holding up a small black box and tapped a button. ‘ _ This was not planned. _ ’ The deep voice that came out was muffled, but clear enough.

He took two steps forward as Crowley quickly said, “This isn’t the only copy.”

Dean stopped, glaring hotly as the other man cleared his throat and smoothed his hands down his jacket. 

“Now,” Crowley’s mouth split in a grin, “let’s talk.”

He still felt the urge to mangle something with his bare hands, but he settled for grabbing a stool and taking a seat. Because he had to. This was what happened when he got distracted, because Crowley had openly been in his space and did Dean check for listening devices? 

No. 

His father would be so disappointed.

“So talk,” Dean growled. What, was he going to have to play a guessing game? Charades? Draw a goddamn picture then shove it down the other guy’s throat? This was a position for amateurs.

“All right. I don’t want you to leave completely empty-handed, of course. I figure you’re here on a case. I can help you out with that, I am an elected official with quite a bit of information at my disposal.”

Dean crossed his arms, not liking the thought of sharing anything more than what Crowley already knew, the underhanded bastard. “What do you want in return?”

“A small thing. Will barely take up any of your time between church events and tupping priests.” 

“ _ Go on _ .”

“Well, I have a certain person I know that I’d like you to seduce.”

“What.” Dean stared at the man. He was kinda speechless. All this just to charm his way into bed with someone? Cause Crowley could’ve just hired someone to do it. Unless he was one of those types that loved the power blackmail gave him.

Yeah, okay, that was probably it.

“It’s an easy enough job, isn’t it? Seduce someone for me and I’ll keep quiet about when you do it on your own time.” Crowley plucked at an outside pocket, withdrawing a small card. “Just let me know the results when you’re done and I’ll help you out with your problem.”

Dean got up and snatched the offered card away, scanning the name and business. “Are you serious? This is a guy.” It wasn’t so much the gender as the confusion. He really thought it would be Crowley’s wife that he was looking to pin infidelity on. “And one with a...gardening service. What did he do, kill your petunias?”

The smile faded and Crowley spoke shortly. “The why’s don’t really matter, do they? Just let me know if he does anything with you.”

Dean blinked, folding the card between his thumb and index finger. He chuckled at first, then snorted and shook his head. “You hypocrite.” At the offended look sent his way, he smiled sharply. “You want me to see if your secret lover will cheat on you. What’s wrong, you’re not sure if his love is as true as yours?”

“Maybe I’m just a romantic at heart.” Crowley stood up, rebuttoning the formal jacket. “One day, after you go back to being Dean Winchester, ladies’ man extraordinaire while dreaming of one rainy night, you’ll understand. I’ll just show myself out. See you soon.” 

Dean considered the consequences if he just popped the guy one, but ultimately he just sat there while the man walked out. Only then did he get up and all but tore apart the place to make sure Crowley didn’t pull a mind-fuck and planted another bug.

He wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t find any though, there was no need. The damage was already done.

 


	12. Holy Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie arrives alone at Dovie's! She is less than amused about the little white lie.

“You are such a liar!”

“Hey Charlie.” He grinned, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder as he checked the time, 6:10 pm.

“You---you! I have no words.”

“Ahh. Well, you had better get back to it then.”

“No! You had better get down here lickety-split! I must have looked like an idiot, showing up on her doorstep alone and confused.”

“Doesn’t it look worse that you’re hiding in her bathroom?” 

It was silent for a long moment. “How do you even know that?!”

“Cause you’d avoid the irony of the closet.” 

She made a sound like a dying person. “Stop laughing! It’s going to look like I planned this whole thing if you don’t show up.”

“Naw, just send her my apologies and tell her my elderly landlady needed help setting up her boxes.”

“I will tell Heddy you said that.” She warned, but it was a weak threat and they both knew it. “C’mon. Be a pal?”

“I am. Have a good dinner.” He hung up as she let out a frustrated growl, recapturing a small amount of good feeling he had before Crowley showed up. But looking around at the overturned cushions and utensils and dinnerware stacked high on the counters, he sighed. 

He had done as much as he could, checked fixtures, picked up mattresses, done everything short of prying up floorboards. None were loose though, he checked.

The folded card was now tucked under a loose slot in a kitchen drawer. The laptop was on the only clear space of the counter, he was waiting for a response from Sam. He had sent him the bare bones of the deal that was just offered to him, minus the blackmail material itself. 

Without it, the whole thing looked like quid pro quo, case help for the price of one underhanded, but simple, investigation. Thus Dean wasn’t exactly surprised to get a one-word response back.

_ Great! _

He also wasn’t surprised at the inherent glee he could feel emanating from the short message. Sam was somewhere laughing at him. 

Dean did keep the phone nearby as well, but didn’t receive any other phone calls or messages from Charlie. Either she accepted her lot and was having a nice time, or she was plotting his demise and didn’t want to tip him off.

And the situations were totally different because he just wanted her to be happy. Heck, who knew? He could be instrumental in the stories they told to their grandchildren. Then he remembered Crowley saying ‘romantic at heart’ and his skin crawled.

The rest of the evening was spent randomly putting things back in its place and enjoying the burger he picked up from Conner’s Diner. Even if he couldn’t be happy, he could be well-fed. Now that was a Dean-ism he could get behind.

When a light knocking sounded at just after eight, Dean resigned himself to probably a scolding no matter how the night went. He technically had lied, if one wanted to nitpick.

But peering through the small window did not reveal the religious person he expected. Licking his dry lips, he opened the door and silently beckoned Cas inside. 

Didn’t anyone think it looked odd that the hot priest was visiting the very out Minister who was new in town? Maybe priests were that far above suspicion. If that were the case, he’d really have to suggest to Sam that they incorporate that into their plethora of disguises.

He closed the door after him. It was impossible to unsee that toned body no matter how the cassock, he researched the term finally, hid the details.

Cas stood by the kitchen counter, perusing the stacks of plates and heaps of spatulas and the like.

“Just cleaning.” Dean broke first, rubbing the back of his neck. “But enough about me. How are you?”

“I am well.” Cas tore his attention away from the heap of rugs shoved in front of the fridge and to Dean. He paused, then shook his head. “I am not sure, actually. Is there a common feeling experienced after what transpired last night?”

“Satisfaction?” Dean couldn’t help himself, Sam always said he used humour during inappropriate moments. On the plus side, if seeing a priest blush was on his bucket list, he could’ve crossed it off the list.

Indeed there was a bit of color on his cheeks as Cas fiddled with the cuff of a sleeve. “I feel I must apologize for my...reaction.”

Biting his tongue to stop from asking ‘which part’, because he knew which part and Cas might not get the teasing aspect of the other. When the danger had passed Dean said easily, “Don’t worry about it. I was kind of flattered, actually.”

Cas frowned a bit as he directed an inscrutable stare at him. “We didn’t experience the same release, did we?”

Sam would be shocked at the level of restraint Dean was showing in his choice of responses. Inviting the poor guy to rectify his mistake could backfire maybe. “I’m always happy to lend a hand.” Okay, so maybe he wouldn’t be shocked or impressed.

He coughed. “Well, I could lend a hand in return.”

_ Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. _ Dean finally moved away from the door, walking around to open the fridge and grab a bottle of water. “You’re not obliged to, you know. It’s not like I lent you five bucks and you’re paying me back.” 

He twisted open the cap and nearly missed his mouth when he realized how close Cas was. Seriously, a few drops of water spilled down his cheek before he righted the bottle.

The other man reached down, catching a bit of water that slid down to his neck. 

Dean shivered as the warm touch against the cool liquid.

This time when Cas kissed Dean he just tasted of mint and himself, tongue swiping out to catch some of the cold inside. He was much less uncertain this time, one hand laying flat against Dean’s lower back as their tongues slid together.

Dean could only hear the rushing in his ears, want pooling heavy and languid through him. He pressed forward until Cas bumped the counter, thrusting his tongue surely past Cas’s lips in a mimicry of something far more intimate.

Cas made a needy sound in the back of his throat, then gripped the back of Dean’s jeans as he turned him to press him against the fridge. His other hand wrapped around the back of Dean’s neck, holding him in place as he took over the slow and filthy invasion.

The other man’s strength and hard body sent a shiver of raw need through Dean. The barest hint of stubble scratched along his skin as they played at who was more dominant.

Thoughts timidly poked at the back of his mind, but they kept slipping away. The feeling wasn’t like yesterday, that had been...worshipful. This had a rougher edge and he couldn’t decide which he liked better. 

“Wait,” Dean whispered, opening his eyes. “Maybe we should move to the bedroom.” He knew for sure there was only a bed and a dresser in there, plus he checked every conceivable spot for devices. Just in case. For no reason.

Cas opened his eyes, so blue it would be easy to drown in. His licked his bottom lip and nodded.

To be honest, Dean felt a bit unsteady in more than one way as he led him to the back and closed the door behind them. The kissing was getting hot and heavy, but now that they were in there should he be going slow again?

They really only covered the barest basics of what could happen and honestly, he hadn't done anymore to Cas than he'd done for himself at some age before it wasn’t ‘allowed’. 

He turned around and Cas was already undoing the thousand buttons that ran from his throat to waist. When he pulled the white band free and set it on the side table, Dean felt the thoughts that crowded in the back of his head come to the front.

“Cas?”

Fingers never pausing, Cas looked up as the fabric gaped open. “Yes, Dean?”

“I don’t mean to sound insulting, but are you sure about this?”

One dark eyebrow raised then both, his head cocking to one side. “That does sound a little insulting.”

Dean closed the space between them and took one now unoccupied hand and cupped it. “You’re shaking.”

“For you,” Cas said as if it was the most simple thing in the world, and hell, maybe it was. 

Okay it wasn’t, but Dean kissed him anyway, taking his time before parting his lips and tasting inside. He helped pushing the shoulders off and down his arms, tossing aside the jacket toward the table. It sounded like it landed and didn’t immediately slide off, good enough.

Maybe there were other questions, but he wouldn’t have any Cas hadn’t already posed to himself. Besides, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know those answers. Instead he focused on moving his mouth to Cas’s neck. He hadn’t focused on nipping and sucking the skin there, breathing in the scent of plain soap and something that was just Cas.

They climbed on the bed together, barely separating enough except to kneel across from each other. Neither wanted to lean back first that was obvious as the subtle battle begin again. 

Cas spread both hands along his waist and pressed into him as he recaptured Dean’s mouth again.

Dean set one hand on Cas’s shoulder, applying a bit of pressure as he tilted his head to get deeper inside the hot confines of that mouth. Just like before, when they separated his glazed eyes travelled all over Dean’s face.

“Why don’t you lie back,” Cas murmured as he tugged Dean’s shirt over his head. His palms ran from shoulders to lower abdomen, almost convincing him to do whatever Cas wanted.

“When I dance, I lead,” Dean kissed that swollen mouth again firmly until they were both out of breath.

Cas made a noise that might have been a huff of amusement or exasperation as he slid both knees around Dean’s and slid back, pulling Dean on top of him. 

Not that Dean protested. He shifted so they were flush from chest to hips, rubbing together until he was sure the jeans would chafe him and still didn’t care. His own hands were shaking by the time they undid the top of his jeans and the trousers brushing against his fingers impatiently.

He groaned into Cas’s mouth as the other man took over and moved his hand to palm against the open jeans. Dean couldn’t help but rut against the flat palm. In this he didn’t interfere as Cas’s fingers slid under the material and gripped his bare flesh.

His cock throbbed and swelled even more, all sense of time and manners fleeing in the aftermath of his shuddering. “Yes, just like that,” he said brokenly against Cas’s mouth, feeling the fingers wrapped around him grow slick. 

Cas moved against his hip as he brought Dean closer with just a few brushes of his thumb against the underside of him. He didn’t protest when Dean yanked the trousers down several inches to pull him free, already leaking freely on his own stomach.

“Wait,” Dean hissed, shifting his hips down and pressing his bare skin against the priest’s weeping head. Cas whined underneath him, his head pushing back on the mattress and exposing his neck.

Dean did what he had to and lightly bit the damp skin as he rolled his hips, rubbing them together. It was hot and silky and messy, and he couldn’t have stopped short of a marching band bursting in. Holding them together in one fist, he thrust until Cas was gripping his hips and groaning openly.

“I’m going to…” was all Dean could manage before gasping openly and spurting hot release again and again as he continued to rub against him. Cas was just as gone, thrusting in Dean’s fist until pushing hard once, twice, and hoarsely shouting while throbbing under his palm.

Without thinking, once Cas went limp beneath him Dean let himself relax on his chest. His very slick with the aftermath upper body. Giving a breathy laugh, he tucked his head in the crook of Cas’s shoulder. “If we don’t clean up it’ll dry. Nobody wants that.”

He just got a content rumble in response, and he rolled his eyes as he separated to grab a clean towel from the bathroom. When he returned Cas was sitting up slightly, looking down at his bare chest and softened state.

Dean had wet the cloth because they were both a damn mess, but when he sat on the side of the bed he wiped Cas down first. He took care of himself second, finally meeting Cas’s intent gaze.

“What will you do now?” It was easier to ask in the dark. And it could mean anything; right now, the next day, forever? 

“Can I sleep for a while?” Cas’s deep words seemed to have formal overtones, at least until he added, “I don’t think I can walk.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Dean smiled because it would be hard to see as he shucked off the still dry jeans and crawled under the thin cover. “But don’t hog the blankets.” He waited until Cas climbed under as well before throwing an arm around his stomach and lying on his own.

Cas was clearly a back-sleeper, so the position worked out wonderfully.  If either were having any more questions, it was unspoken in the pleasant night air and the heaviness of sleep and satisfaction weighing on them.

Dean slit open one eye, at first unaware that he had fallen asleep listening to the deep breathing next to him. It was still dark and there was still breathing, so he couldn’t have been asleep long. He wasn’t sure what woke him up.

Until he heard the faint sound of insistent knocking.

What the fuck? Dean rolled out of bed and grabbed his jeans to pull them off hastily. Walking quietly out of the room and closing the door, he grabbed his gun out of the open inside pocket of his duffel. He didn’t take into consideration that Mayor McCheese apparently had a key because Heddy swore no visitors came to her for him.

The knocking resume and he peeked through the tiny curtain. Oh shit. He hastily shoved the gun inside the back of his jeans and opened the door. “Charlie, it’s like…” He forgot to check the time. “Sometime late, I’m sure.”

Charlie squeezed past him and began to pace along the short kitchen floor, practically whirling in sharp ovals.

“No, come right in,” Dean muttered. 

She kept this up for several moments before stopping and pointing at him. “You, you lied to me. How can we have a level of trust if you lie to me? We’re supposed to be close, I thought we were friends and had each other’s back.”

For a moment it seemed all so serious and betrayed that he wondered if Crowley had decided to clue in his church coordinator because she wouldn’t tell anyone else. But she wouldn’t look at him the same either.

She ran both her hands through her short hair, sinking on a stool. “She must think I’m crazy.”

Ah. Dean took the seat next to her, laying one hand on her back. “She must’ve already known. You don’t get this way overnight, it had to have happened over a long time.”

She tried to frown at him. “Don’t try and sweet talk your way out of this.”

That was sweet talking? He shrugged and gave his best encouraging smile. “What did you do that was so terrible?”

“Everything!” she tilted her head back into her waiting hands. “From showing up and looking shocked to see her, to telling her no less than three times she was pretty, and oh she must’ve wanted to kick me out all night!”

“Wait, where did you just come from?”

Her gaze skittered away nervously. “I stayed and chatted.. I just lost track of time. She’s probably exhausted.”

“She’ll only be exhausted if you do it right.” 

This time her look could melt paint off walls. “She is not that type of girl, even if she did like girls. You don’t just dive into bed with someone like that.”

Dean coughed. “Okay, but you’ve been waiting on each other for what, seven years? I think you can forgive a little impatience.”

“Nothing happened.” Charlie stressed, looking more put-out at that than his lying thing. Her shoulders slumped as she stared off sadly. “It  _ was  _ nice. But seeing her brought up more feelings than I thought I still had. I expected heartsick over the past, but not,” she gestured helplessly with one hand, “that she’d still be the person I fell in love with.”

Dean searched over his shoulder for the paper towel roll somewhere as her tears started to glint in the light. He finally reached it and tore off two pieces, holding both out to her.

“Thank you.” She wiped her face with one hand and tossed it in the trash, almost. It bounced off the side and fell to the floor silently. “I know you meant well,” she wept quietly. 

Dean wrapped an arm around her shoulder and thought he should probably fix this. He knew he wasn’t wrong about the two women making eyes at each other. But much like the pipe project, he wasn’t sure if it could viably be finished in time.

But as she destroyed the Brawny tough paper towel with a powerful blow of her nose, he was honest with himself. It was already underway, Dean didn’t really have a choice. But that was fine, the ladies would be happy and in love before he left and that was a damn promise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all enjoying this! I'm taking a moment announcing the a new fic will be starting shortly after this one.  
> Confess  
> A serial killer confesses several murders to a priest.  
> I know, another priest story, but the idea was so well-liked! More on the summary later.


	13. Holy Trickery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to follow through on Crowley's stupid blackmail exchange.

Dean stood next to the bed, the pale moonlight falling on the side of Cas’s face. He could just make out the fan of his lashes, the curve of his nose, and the outline of his mouth. It was a very poetic moment, he thought ruefully. 

He should wake him up so he could get back to the steepled building. But every time he held out a hand to bump the bare shoulder, something stopped him. Selfishness, probably. Affection, possibly.

“Cas.” He settled for climbing behind Cas and throwing an arm around his waist. “Can’t sleep the whole night.”

Cas mumbled something and buried his face deeper into the pillow. He went lax with sleep again after several more breaths. Nor did he respond to light jostling, back rubbing, or butt squeezing.

Dean sighed and propped his head up on his palm, staring at the back of the messy head. Sleep begged to claim him too, but the thought of waking up to a frantic priest running around in the sunlight made him poke at Cas again. “I’ll stop trying to wake you up if you say you  _ can  _ sleep here till morning. Hey, can you stay?”

Cas was obviously ignoring him, his breathing changed and everything but he stayed just where he was.

“Just give me a ‘I can stay’.” He jiggled the unresponsive shoulder. Then he sighed. He kinda didn’t mind if Cas stayed. If the priest hadn’t anywhere to go, would he have asked him to stay? Made a wicked breakfast for them both in the morning? Dean maked top-notch breakfasts after a night of slap and tickle. 

He wouldn’t mind hanging around Cas, even if it was just sitting around and listening to his stupid literal statements and confusion over idioms all day.

“Cas? C’mon buddy, up and at ‘em.” He lightly massaged one broad shoulder, digging his thumb into the tense spots. “Your alarm is going off. Beep beep.” Rotating the joint, then he resumed rubbing. “God is calling. He hates leaving voicemails.”

Cas mumbled something against the fluffy pillow crossly.

“What? Got to speak up. Act like you’re talking to the person in the back row.”

“ _ Don’t stop _ ,” he loudly mumbled.

Dean chuckled as he dug his thumbs into the muscles of Cas’s upper back, kneading down next to his spine until he was practically groaning. He was so responsive, pushing back into Dean’s hands when they slowed or pushed too softly. 

“Roll on your stomach,” he whispered against the shell of Cas’s ear, waiting until he did before getting up and straddling his upper thighs. He hadn’t ever given a guy a massage, there was less give and he wasn’t sure when the pressure was too much. 

Not that he’d know given Cas’s response, he kept making deep sounds that vibrated against his palms. Sometimes Dean ran his fingers through the soft wild strands on top of his head in between working the tension out of him. 

Or working in. Just as he started on the upper arms Cas pulled out of his grip and sat up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to go,” Cas said flatly, but then threw a softer look over his shoulder at Dean. “I don’t want to, but I can’t get distracted.” He stood up and began searching for his clothes.

“I think you’re already a bit  _ distracted _ ,” Dean said lazily, gaze dipping over the body moving around the the dark. He couldn’t see Cas’s blush either, but he could practically feel it.

He was already halfway dressed, save for the infinity of buttons he was diligently doing up.

Dean waffled back and forth between saying nothing or saying everything. Might be better the err on the side of open-ended, just in case. “See you tonight?” 

Cas didn’t respond at first. He was all done with the cassock and reached out to pick up the collar band. It was a pale sliver even in the dark. “Yeah,” he whispered as he slid the back around his neck.

Dean didn’t say anything as Cas leaned over to kiss him, warm and lingering. Then he was gone.

It was hard to fall back asleep after that. The night air was too stifling even with the window open and he couldn’t get comfortable. Sleep wasn’t entirely elusive, but it only came in patches and short fits until daybreak. 

First thing he did after showering was find his nicest green shirt and tightest jeans to make his first foray into seduction. And hoping if he left early the guy would be watering a lawn somewhere.

When he opened his front door there was a small package on his step. He opened it, kinda hopeful. When he saw the new box with a voice-activated tape recorder inside, and a note reading ‘For Your Newest Case’, he almost threw it. Or stomped on it. 

Common sense did prevail though. After making sure it really was a brand-new recorder, he shoved it in his pocket and grabbed a leather jacket to hide the bulge of it and his gun.

Maybe it was paranoid, but felt he had every reason to at the moment. In his experience, people with power liked to wield it on a whim. Patting the side of his car, he climbed into the driver’s seat. He wanted the security of fast transportation.

Parking a block away from the address, he walked up to the familiar house and knocked. He didn’t see a car, so he was hopeful that--

The door opened and Jeremiah leaned out the door, grinning at him. “Hey Pastor. Or do I say Minister, Father? I’m never sure.”

“Dean is fine.” It was like all the words jammed inside of his head. Every bit of knowledge he had about flirting tipped out his brain at some point. It wasn’t because of who it was, the Mayor’s Mister looked pretty much like any young guy. Dirty blonde hair, an easy smile, perfectly average.

Maybe Cas was the only guy it came naturally with.

“Can I do something for you, Dean?” He took a step back to invite him in.

Dean slowly stepped in the house, watching the door close as if it was the slide of a cell door. He finally made himself focus on the mark. “I was hoping to ask about your...services. Lawn work, right?” 

Something shifted in Jeremiah’s expression, something less friendly and more predatory. “Ahh. You know, if I’m going to call you Dean you have to call me Gabe.”

An unusual nickname for Jeremiah, but who was he to quibble? “Okay Gabe. So, what have you got to offer?” He managed a bit of a smile, but couldn’t quite manage the full-on crooked grin and self-assured winks. 

It seemed to be good enough because Gabe sent a lingering look over his shoulder as he walked to the kitchen. “I have a binder. I’m sure you’ll find something you want.” 

Okay, looks like this was going to be super easy. Dean took a seat at the table and flipped through the laminated pages with pictures. Actually, if he were looking gardener, he could do worse than this guy. He made noises like he was considering ideas while looking at the pages.

Gabe was leaning really far in his personal space. “So, see anything you like?”

Dean made himself look straight at Gabe and say, “Yeah, I do.” After a moment in which they shared a moment or something, he continued. “Want to go out tonight?”

Gabe blinked. “Out?” It was the first moment of confusion he showed.

“Like dinner. Or bowling, skeet-shooting? Whatever they do around here.” 

“On a date?” he asked blankly.

Dean was beginning to wonder if he imagined the last five minutes with longing glances and teasing grins directed his way. He pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yep. A date. With us. On it.”

“Sure.” Gabe seemed too surprised to sound eager or horrified, he just agreed and stared.

“Okay.” Dean closed the binder decisively. “I’ll give you a call about tonight then.” He’d make his excuses in an hour or so just to be fair, he wouldn’t leave him sitting around all night or stand him up.

“See you tonight.” Gabe waved, walking him to the door and shutting it behind him. He still seemed uncertain. 

Man, what did Crowley do to him, did he not think he was worth having an open relationship with? It made him feel kinda bad. So he was doubly irritated when he clicked off the tape recorder and called Crowley.

“Crowley speaking.” 

“Guess true love is dead.”

“What?” he yelled, and then grumbled crossly. “After all I’ve done for him...”

“Don’t you mean  _ to _ him?”

“What do you mean, what did he tell you? And what happened?” he demanded, sounding more upset than his secret lover was spilling secrets than cheating. It made Dean want to never know what happened behind those closed doors.

“He said he’d go on a date with me.” He’d have to give him the tape for proof anyway. “And he was all over me.”

“Wait, did any clothes come off?”

Dean looked skyward, trying to figure out what answer would get this over with fastest. He did end up going for the truth. “No, but the way he was acting I’m sure at the date--”

“No no,” Crowley sounded far too pleased. “That’s not conclusive. He could just be going on a date to keep up appearances. I’m sure everyone has been mentioning you to him.”

“Oh good, he’s your one and only. Can I get my information now?”

“You haven’t finished the assignment yet. See what he does at the end of the date.”

“Are you kidding me?! C’mon, he passed your bullshit test. How about I’ll try to seduce your wife and see if you two are a matched pair.”

Crowley snorted. “Please, just try and a find a night she isn’t already occupied.”

That figured. God, he was starting to get an headache. “Come on.”

“No information without a date. Oh, and bring the tape recorder.” 

At the click Dean cursed up a blue moon in the Impala, too protective of his car to punch anything inside. It wouldn’t be fair to her, not when he just wanted to punch one smarmy, bearded face in particular.

Closing his eyes and sucking in a breath helped. Get the information, then punch Crowley in the face. That was better.

Driving the short distance back did give him some measure of comfort, he kept catching glimpses of light blue flyers everywhere. There was no way that guy wouldn’t notice them unless he literally never left his house.

Charlie did not come by the church that morning or during her normal lunch break. She was either freaking out in her office or trying to decide if and when to call Dovie. Hopefully she would, he kinda thought that those two deserve some measure of happiness.

“What are you doing, Pastor?” Benny asked from behind as Dean checked the strength of a window. 

“Just seeing what else needs maintenance.” He had already checked the other exits and the route someone running would be most likely to take. He’d chased down plenty of people, knowing the area helped immensely. 

It was quiet for a moment before Benny moved beside him as he checked the corners and seals on the glass. “You’re an interesting Minister.”

“Ah, well, I figure it doesn’t matter what gender I like to God.” That sounded pretty good. He had been trying to fill in the gaps of his cover story, unexpected as it was, just because everyone wanted to talk about it.

Benny shook his head thoughtfully, gazing up at the dark red flowers just outside the window. “Not that. You move differently than most people. You’re always aware and checking the area. And you’re not always polite, as if you’re used to being in such a hurry you can’t be bothered with the people standing around gawking.”

Dean blinked. Man, he had tried so hard to work on that. Like saying hello and goodbye, not just barking out questions or commands. Maybe he was just an impatient guy. “Hey, sorry if I’ve been rude.” He meant it at least.

He nodded as he gazed at the view still. “Yeah. I don’t think you’re a cop. I’ve only met a few that can pull off anything other than a cop, and they were in the undercover units.”

“Definitely not a cop. But I’ve seen a lot of cops, maybe it’s that.” Shit, Dean almost said he was raised by a cop. It was that sort of backstory confusion that got a person caught out.

It was as if he didn’t say anything. Benny just continued with the same thoughtful air. “Because I was wondering why you asked about the furniture store. I mean, you were careful to ask general questions, but it was still strange. I know when something isn’t right.”

Okay, this could be not good. All Benny had to do was tell Charlie and she could probably do all that internet stuff that Sam did. Or that Crowley paid someone to do. Should he just come clean or imply it’s a big, secret case for some big government department? It wouldn’t be the first time he played fed, or even undercover fed.

“As much as I’m enjoying the flurry of activities, I’m sure you’re trying to flush someone out,” Benny continued calmly, without ever looking over. “I just wanted to say, before it all goes down and you go, that you should be staying. You’re good for us and I think we’re good for you.”

Dean listened to the other guy quietly pad away without responding. There wasn't much to say. Remaining here wasn’t an option for many reasons, including the fact that this was a fake job, one he lied and swindled his way into.

It did make his brief phone call with Gabe confirming a date at a tiny Italian restaurant even worse. Plus the guy kept alternating between sounding surprised to be asked out on a date and tolerant as if knowing what was up. 

Dean sincerely doubted it. 

 

La Buona Cucina was a small house turned ‘fine dining’. There was a two-seat table on the portico with a rose in a vase. The sign above had a illustration of a loaf of bread and a wine bottle next to the name.

Gabe was supposed to meet him there, so Dean put on his game face and walked inside. A young woman greeted him with a modicum of polite interest. “Hello, welcome to La Buona Cucina. How many?”

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone here,” he said. Upon a cursory glance, only one person was here and that was Gabe.

“Do you see them?” she asked by rote, even though she looking at the dining room too and couldn’t possibly miss that bright green jacket he was wearing.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Dean walked past her and smiled at Gabe. Remember, be seductive. “Hey, nice jacket.”

Flattery was hard to do when trying to think about how to do it.

“Thank you.” Gabe grinned and admired it himself. “I didn’t mean to grab something that matched your eyes, but look at that.”

Dean took a sip of the water already at the table, staring at the single rose in the middle really hard. Okay, he knew he didn’t have eyes the color of radioactive slime. “Thanks.”

“Did you know that the restaurant’s name in Italian means good cooking? I’ll give them points for the food, if not originality for the name.” Gabe had a chatty sort of quality to his voice, it was well suited to rambling. 

Dean, who had been in a really nice restaurant no more than a handful of times, shrugged noncommittally. “Well, at least you know what you’re getting.”

Gabe puckered his mouth sourly and looked around the age-worn accessories and plain red tablecloth. “Like most of the people around here know what it means. They just see Italian and think ‘fine dining’, when really the fave here is spaghetti and they pronounce antipasto wrong.”

Dean might’ve chuckled at a scathing commentary by a friend, but this just made him uncomfortable. “Well hey, we don’t have to eat here. I really didn’t know any better.”

Gabe’s look softened when he turned his attention back to him. “No, it’s the nicest place in town. And I wasn’t trying to pick apart your choice, sorry. Sometimes I walk into places like these and just think of how much better the real thing is.”

Wonder why he still lived here if the tacky small-town setting was so stifling. “Have you travelled much?”

Gabe shrugged. “I used to. But I settled down here, looking for peace. And now I’m never not bored and frankly resent every facet of this shit place. Almost every.” He smiled at Dean for the last part, winking.

“Why don’t you go then?” 

He gave a carefree shrug. “That’s the problem with settling down. You take down all those things in place you had to keep moving. I have a mortgage now, stuff, all this stuff I can’t just fit in my car when I want to go. I’d have to leave it behind and I don’t want to, I bought it, it’s mine.”

Dean finally looked at the menu as Gabe spoke, though he paid attention to the words. Never knew what a loose tongue let something important slip. 

“What can I get yew?” An older redhead stopped by their table with a tolerant smile for him, a less so one for Gabe.

“I would love some wine. Do you have any you recommend?” Dean asked, never forgetting this was a date. Besides, some of this was just second nature.

She smiled at him widely. “How does a Cabernet Sauvignon sound, darlin?”

“Uhh, yeah, whatever you said is great.” Dean grinned, playing a bit but also honestly having no idea what she said. He’d heard wine names before and the first part sounded familiar, but Sammy was the well-read brother out of the two.

Gabe ordered the baked ravioli bolognese, with an emphasis on the last word. The server openly rolled her eyes, so apparently she was familiar with him and his views on the place.

Dean tilted his menu back so she could see where he was pointing. “I’ll just take this chicken one here.”

“Chicken Parmigiana?” At his nod, she smiled. “Yew can say it any way and I’ll know what yew want.” She patted on her shoulder on the way and, by the look on Gabe’s face, gave him a look over her shoulder.

Gabe pasted back on a friendly look while leaning forward. “I do love a well-traveled man.”

“I try to keep an open mind.”

“That’s hot too.” Gabe winked and looked at his menu again. “Their desserts are passable. I can whip up one at my house that will leave you drooling.” 

Okay, well this assignment should be easy. “I can’t wait.” Not that he blamed Gabe, Dean wouldn’t like being the other person. The thought did make his insides squirm a little. He was the other person to God, which made him wish the wine would hurry up and get there.

“Have you ever been with any women?” Gabe asked suddenly.

Dean coughed. “A few. Long time ago, though.”

He grinned dotingly, resting his chin on his folded fingers. “I couldn’t imagine anyone turning you down. You’re handsome, muscular, and I think your hands are amazing.”

“Thank you. I’ve been working in the church a lot.” By the time the glasses and bottle came out, Dean felt like nothing more than a piece of meat. He liked compliments on his looks, but there was more to him, damnit. He had interests and stuff.

She poured a glass for both of them and set the bottle down next to the single rose. “Just let me know if yew need anythin’.” The words were clearly directed to Dean before she ambled saucily off.

“You know I love? The ocean. Especially when it’s windy, so the waves crash down and half the tourists leave because it’s cold. I used to surf sometimes, not professionally though. My interests just run all over the place and I never stick with anything too long. But when I do fixate on something, I explore every part of it.” He leered at the last part, gaze flitting up and down Dean. 

“That sounds intense.” Dean wondered how long he could wait before pouring himself another glass of wine.

Gabe solved that after he swirled the glass in his hand and draining the rest. “More?” he asked after filling his glass.

“Yes, thank you.” Dean nodded quickly.

When their food came he was three glasses in, having heard all about the first half of Gabe’s life and going into the last year of high school.

“And that’s when I knew I had to get out of there. The whole place wasn’t big enough to contain me and all the petty things people cared about just meant nothing. You know? Oh, thank you Row-eena.” 

Rowena set down their plates, smiling at him and flashing a dole look at Gabe before checking on their needs and walking away when they said no.

It looked good. Like a breaded chicken patty with spaghetti sauce on top, nothing too complicated or intimidating. Dean dug in and discovered it was tasty too.

Nodding and making remarks when it seemed due was good enough for Gabe, because all Dean started to do was stare at his face and make yes or no noises. Since Gabe didn’t want dessert at the place, when the check came Dean grabbed it and scribbled out a larger than average tip when the receipt came back. 

The place didn’t remain completely dead, but the other patrons were only barely familiar to Dean. He might’ve seen them walking or at the cook-off. 

Even that was novel. In a big city the chances of that happening were nil and he never stayed in a small town long enough to experience it. 

“Did you have a nice time?” Dean asked politely as he grabbed Gabe’s jacket for him. 

He shrugged into the jacket with a toothy smile. “I did, I haven’t had such a great time in forever. And thanks for picking up dinner, I’ll make it up with dessert.” He ran his hand along Dean’s arm. “Ooh, did I tell you how much I like leather?”

Dean made a show of checking his wrist, forgetting that he wasn’t wearing his watch. “Um, it’s getting kinda late. I still have a lot to work on before Casino Night too.” Not remotely true.

“Oh, but it’s only eight. You shouldn’t be driving, you drank a half a bottle of wine.”

“I’ll risk it,” Dean muttered as he climbed in his car. Shit, maybe he wasn’t cut out for this job anymore. The most this job would cost him is, if it went the way it was going, a few sloppy kisses and some excuses to not carry through. 

But he had a real date tonight, of a sort and the thought of helping Crowley at all made his stomach turn.

The ride home was nearly silent, quite the departure from dinner. When he pulled up to the large house he came around to open the door for Gabe. No point in making the guy feel bad, he was probably nice for someone out there who wasn’t married or fake-interested.

Instead of walking around him, Gabe pushed up real close and wrapped his hands in the collar of Dean’s leather jacket. “How about a sample of later?”

“I don’t think so.” Dean said not unkindly, trying to tilt his head back.

The hands slipped away and Gabe sighed as he looked away. “I knew it.”

“What?” Dean thought he knew what the problem was.

He shook his dirty blond head and started to walk away. “I told Crowley it wouldn’t work,” he muttered, more to himself than anything.

But Dean heard and stared at the slim man walking away. 

He rubbed his temples.  _ Shit. _


	14. Holy Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean eagerly awaits his real date. And again.

The worst part was that Dean fell for the whole ‘spying on my man-mistress’ hook, line, and sinker. 

When he got home, he had to meticulously check each entrance when he got back to his rooms, even the laundry room one. He knew Crowley could get in. 

All signs pointed to nobody else had broken it, though the guy probably could have avoided the spots after having time to scope out the place alone. Twice.

All of Dean’s belongings were in place and Sam had put a password lock on the laptop. Eventually he ruled out the idea and sat back on the couch. But before he could begin to weigh the facts with theories, there was a soft knock on the door.

Dean did not run to the door, but he might have hurried a little. For privacy reasons, of course. He did a quick scan through the window, just in case, and opened the door once he saw it was Cas.

He couldn’t decide if the man took a Vow of No Combs or it was finger-swept, but he really liked the messy  way it stuck up all over. “One of these days I’m gonna lay that flat just so I can mess it up before you get here,” he said as he stepped back to let him in.

Cas raised an eyebrow, as if having no idea what he’s talking about. “It’s not messed up.” His tone is that of injured dignity, and it makes him all the more kissable.

Shit, Dean knew he had it bad.

“Do you use a rake to subdue it then? A frantic guinea pig? Does a cow actually lick it for you before you go?” Dean was grinning widely as Cas’s eyes got more and more narrow. 

Instead of responding, Cas got right in his space and let his eyes stroke from Dean’s mouth to eyes and back again. “I can think of several activities your mouth could be doing instead of talking.”

“Just several? Why don’t you give me a bullet-point--” As hoped, Dean was silenced with a kiss. 

Not just any kiss, but a deep one that went from lips to tongue to the barest edge of teeth along his lower lip.

He groaned into it, wrapping his fingers in the front of the black material. It was heady, like gulping down champagne for the first time, as it went straight to his head.

On the less than good side, he nearly choked on Cas’s tongue when he heard another round of knocking. He pulled back, staring into the thin ring of blue surrounding the depthless pupils. 

“The bedroom,” Dean muttered as he turned around, checking his clothes and adjusting himself. Sweet mother of all that was holy he hoped it wasn’t someone who saw their immaculate priest walk in.

Checking the window, Dean let out a groan. Couldn’t he catch a damn break? 

He opened the door and nearly yanked the tall man inside. “Sam?” he hissed. “What the hell, man?”

Sam just ambled in, all freakishly tall grace and patience as he looked around. “This is nicer than a hotel, that’s for sure. I had a good trip, thank for asking.”

“I didn’t,” Dean muttered, casting an eye toward the closed door. “Look, let’s go out to the car.” 

“I thought you just pulled me in because you didn’t want to be seen?” Sam asked, his voice as big as his height. 

He grabbed his brother’s arm and muttered. “I have a guest, shut up,” he said in the quietest voice possible. “So if you could just go in the bathroom while I take care of this…”

“Is it the fake-date?” Sam whispered back, peering curiously down the hall.

Dean pushed him toward the door to the left, trying to muster the self-control to not strangle the tall man. Surely that would cause other complications he didn’t need right now. 

Cas was probably opposed to murder and would not find that on a turn-on.

Once he shut the door he closed his eyes. After a long minute he walked down the hall and let himself in the bedroom.

Cas was sitting on the bed, hands propped on his elbows with straight posture. He saw Dean’s expression and stood up. “I should go.”

“Shi---oot, I’m sorry. Unexpected guest. I’ll make sure he’s not here tomorrow night.” Was he babbling? Maybe a little. He just couldn’t get it out of his head that Cas could easily never return. And he didn’t even get to talk to him about any of the things he had been planning to.

“It’s fine.” Cas said nothing of tomorrow either as he walked toward the door.

Dean put a hand on his arm before he could open the door. “Wait.” He waited until the blue eyes met his before whispering. “He’s family. Come back tomorrow night.” 

Cas held his eye for a moment longer before continuing, opening the door, and leaving. 

Dean looked upward and sighed, rubbing the thin skin under his eyes before leaving the bedroom and rapping shortly on the door.

Sam peeked his head out, grinning that silly grin of his. “Did you actually seduce the guy? I didn’t think you’d do it, I mean…”

“I like a different guy,” Dean said bluntly before heading to the couch and flopping on it. He listened as Sam followed him, stopping in the middle of the living room with his matching black bag over one shoulder.

“Oh. Wait, what?” 

“He’s a priest. A really hot one.”

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “Okay Dean. If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, fine. It’s not like I care who you sleep with as long as it’s legal.” He took a seat on the couch, pulling out his slim laptop. “So obviously the dog fighting ring is taken care of. Really brutal too. I drove down to give you backup for Saturday night, you said you were messing around in the utility room in the basement of the church. I can stay there during the event.”

Dean stuck his teeth between his top lip and teeth and sucked, knowing the sound irritated Sam. “Yeah sure. Hey, can you clear out tomorrow night? You interrupted me and the priest.”

“The priest and me,” Sam said absently, tapping away on his laptop. “I can set up some surveillance on the church tomorrow night if you need some space to suck face. Also, this couch is really short, can I take the bed?”

“Sure, but I haven’t washed the sheets since the priest and me were getting freaky on it.”

“Priest and I.”

Dean threw one of the four hundred couch pillows at him.

Sam did end up taking the couch after they hashed out all the details, his legs hanging over the end like a giraffe on a boulder. Even though Dean was still ticked at him, he made a smaller version of the breakfast he was saving...just in case maybe Cas spent the night.

To say that he was in a good mood would be a filthy lie, so he took it out on Crowley while sitting in the car.

“What the heck was last night?”

“What’s wrong, wasn’t he satisfactory?” The other man sniggered, not bothering with niceties since none had been offered.

“You’re not even sleeping with him, are you?” Not that he expected honesty, but he was itching to really have a go at someone. 

Crowley made a considering sound. “I might’ve taken what was freely offered once or twice.  _ You  _ know how it is.” 

“I’m hanging up now. And keep your information, I doubt you know anything about this anyway.”

“That hurts, Dean. I  _ have _ been making deals since before you were born.”

He hung up and went back inside to run over the game plan with Sam. His biggest concern was later that night, but until then he had errands to do.

Dean drove out to the real estate office before picking up lunch, parking down the street so she couldn’t hide. Her absence had been duly noted, but he wasn’t sure if she was hiding from him or in general.

Heddy waved at him as he entered the tiny offices, a phone headset pressed to one ear. She pointed at the cubicle to the left, making a sympathy face.

Dean chuckled and approached quietly, ducking so she wouldn’t see the top of his head before appearing around the side. “Charlie!” 

She jumped a bit, then cast the stink eye at him. It was followed by a sniff and she went back to being busy again. “I’m far too busy to go down today.”

“You’re playing Solitaire.”

“I’m winning Solitaire. Besides, I’m multi-tasking.”

“I like to play games while I mope too.”

“M’not moping.” She mumbled as she stared hard at her computer screen, mouse clicking on nothing. It was kind of obvious when nothing moved but her finger kept pressing down. 

_ Click click click. _

“Have you called her yet?”

She doubled down on the clicking.

“You should probably let her make her own choices. She’s an adult.”

Her glare intensified, if the screen were a person it would surely have begged for forgiveness before bursting into flames.

“I’ll just pop down to Taylor’s Flowers and send her a nice red rose bouquet with the inscription, ‘Great seeing you, XOXOXO!’ ”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You’re right, I’d draw hearts instead of O’s.”

Charlie heaved a great big sigh and gave him sad eyes that rivalled Sam’s best puppy look. “If I call her, will you refrain from the flowers?”

“If you do it now.”

“I’m working.” 

He leaned over and tapped the front of her screen. “You clicked through the hand three times, it’s not happening.” 

She grumbled and picked up her phone, staring at it before letting herself be silently prodded into hitting dial. She held it to one ear, twisting her fingers nervously in her short hair. “Hey Dovie.” She was quiet then, biting her lip. “I’m good. Um, yeah I had a nice time, did you?”

Heddy inched up behind Dean, and he sent her a wink and nodded toward Charlie’s red face. The older woman practically beamed, clasping her hands hopefully together.

“Yeah, we can do dinner again.” She blushed. “No no, the boys were very well behaved.” Then she listened and laughed. “Okay okay, but they were adorable.” Her look softened and she went quiet.

Dean took that as a cue to go, all seemed great here. He shot two thumbs up at Heddy, got two in return, and headed out with a jaunty step. 

He was so good at matchmaking. It made him feel good that besides catching this guy, which he would, something else good came out of the trip.

Everything else seemed kinda complicated and frustrating, the degree depending on who it involved. After running errands he packed everything but necessities, throwing everything else in his trunk and doing a thorough job cleaning up inside. But waited on the laundry, for obvious reasons.

If he had to book it out of town quickly, Dean didn’t want Heddy stuck with a mess or to think he was inconsiderate. The lady had grown on him, especially since she was a dab hand at cooking and baking and began to encourage him to have a plate.

By the time nine rolled around he had quickly driven Sam to the church and practically ran back to the car to get back. He’d left a little cryptic note, but it was still lying just underneath the door.

He brushed his teeth twice, because that was considerate, and had the shirt and jeans Cas wore the very first night laid on the couch. In case he wanted to be comfortable, because Dean had a lot to say. He wasn’t sure how he was gonna say stuff, but it had to happen before they were naked together. 

Probably before.

Nine thirty came around and then ten. Sam had long since set up surveillance and was sending texts about the floor being more comfortable than the couch and not to wake the landlady with sex noises.

Dean sent back some mashed together letters as if they were accidentally pressed during sexy times. 

He wished. 

It was already ten thirty and Dean pulled a blanket on the couch just in case the knocking couldn’t be heard in the bedroom.

He played Solitaire on his laptop, then Pinball. Looked up descriptions of the boy and the kidnapper. Cat pictures. Listened to songs he downloaded throughout the life of the computer. Checked his phone. 

Examined his life, sorta.

Dean hated spending time with himself. He filled his time with cases and dickin’ around under normal circumstances. Not literally, much, but when he could do so literally, he did. 

As for the work, it was the legacy their dad left behind. He didn’t die a hero’s death either, but rather in some gritty alley because his partner had gotten taken down. Bobby had been like a second dad to the boys. It was his wife who pulled a Brutus and gave him away to some people who were heavy on guns and short on mercy.

Bobby lived, but their father John hadn’t. The man had never been the same since, though he still helped them when they called. His heart wasn’t in it, even when he was calling them out for doing something stupid.

Dean figured they were careful as can be, never getting mixed up in heavier shit than they could handle. They took private cases and ones that passed into the hands of bounty hunters during slow times. If it even sounded like a crime syndicate they passed it on to those McClane’s who lived for that sort of thing.

Maybe Cas got caught. Maybe he was sick. Or he just went crawling back to God via confession and Dean should just be happy his life was much less complicated without the memory of a painful ‘what if’.

Because that’s all Cas could ever be, is some mingled guilt-lust thoughts about a case he worked once.

_ Goddamnit! _

Dean turned around and punched the pillow before settling back down. It felt chick flick pathetic to think about how he never felt this way about anyone. So what if they had some good talks and some good...times. He’d been wildly attracted to people before. Well, pretty attracted, enough to take them somewhere private and talk up close and naked.

Everything felt empty. 

Fuck it, he was going back to his fast-food, fast-sex life anyway and that’s just how it was. Time to let go of things that couldn’t be, forget the touch and taste of someone who could never fit in his world nor he his.

Despite knowing better, his heart still jumped when his phone beeped.

Nope, just Sam saying where he set up each bit of surveillance where. He put the phone down and stared at the ceiling. Then the door. Then underneath his eyelids for a while, until he woke up and it was light. It felt shitty and like no time had passed.

He was going to need coffee and maybe a good kick in the ass, as Bobby used to say. 

It was Saturday, and this might be his last day here. Dean packed everything, got coffee and donuts, then sat in his car and listened to CDs until it was time to head to the church.


	15. Holy Priest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casino Night is here!

Dean greeted Benny and a cheerful looking Charlie by rote, looking around the transformed place. It certainly felt different than the first time he walked in

Maybe it was brighter. “We’ve got a few hours before go-time.”

“Maybe we should have a prayer!” Charlie beamed at him and clasped his larger hand in hers. 

The corner of Benny’s mouth twitched upward as he slanted a look Dean’s way. “Yeah brother, lead us in a prayer.”

Giving him a disgruntled look when she wasn’t looking, Dean clasped his hands, bowed his head, and thought quickly. “The Lord is my shepherd, we shall not want. Today we give thanks to you for this church and the people who have worked so hard in running it. May tonight fulfill the desires and wants you want to bless us with. We are your humble servants in worship. Thank you.” After a long second he hastily added, “Amen.”

Charlie opened her eyes, giving him a momentarily puzzled smile before squeezing his hand. Benny wasn’t trying very hard to not look amused, but nodded approvingly when she looked his way.

Dean coughed, willin his ears to not turn red. “I’m not as good with impromptu prayers, silly as that is. I do much better with written.” By someone else. Specifically by the person hiding in the basement at this very moment. 

“It was very nice.” She slid her hand away and looked around. “Do you suppose we should have the guest list out? What if they don’t want to sign it?”

That was his idea so they could check the handwriting against the few papers Lisa did have that her crazy stalker wrote on. “We won’t make them.” Dean shrugged, hoping most people did so kidnapper felt pressured into it.

“So what kinda guy are we looking for?” Benny asked him quietly once she ran out to her car, which was probably code for calling Dovie again.

Dean glanced around and walked with him just outside the back door. Less listening devices. Sam was the one who set them up, but what could Dean say? He was a paranoid bastard. “Guy, mid-thirties. Dark hair, brown eyes. He’ll probably be with a kid that’s ten who had dark hair and light green eyes.”

Benny swore under his breath. “His kid?”

“No.”

They both stood there, absorbing the weight of that before turning back at the same time. But when Dean held the door open, he felt a clap on his shoulder as Benny passed. “I’ll be here for help, brother.”

“Thanks. I’ve got a partner in the basement too, so if you go down there don’t freak.” The chances of anyone going into the boiler room were pretty low, but sometimes his luck just ran that way and a second pair of eyes would be good.

Dovie and several other parishioners had already arrived to admire the decorations and tables. Between keeping an eye on her boys to make sure they didn’t touch anything, Dovie also kept making hopeful eyes at Charlie.

Charlie was a mess, blushing and fumbling over her own words as she tried to greet everyone. It would take a blind idiot to not notice she was immensely distracted.

“That girl has it bad,” Edith said from near his elbow, leaning heavily on her cane. “My husband acted like that when I was just a girl in kneesocks and still wore braids.”

“You’re still a girl, Miss Edith.”

“Say that again, but with a straight face,” she groused, but looked pleased.

He winked at her and went to remind the early birds to sign their name in the guest book. A lady named Ellen was serving the refreshments, punch, lemonade, and water, all nonalcoholic as she teased him. 

Her teenage daughter handed him a cup with a lingering look, clearly smitten. It was cute, but man she looked young to him.

He ruffled her hair and got a blushing scowl in return before she stomped off. 

Dean chuckled after her.

“She’s going to be a handful.” Ellen sighed and pulled a small icebox closer to the table. “Is someone going to relieve me so I can play a few hands of poker?”

“Isn’t that what you have kids for?” Dean teased. He knew perfectly well Jo was one of the young volunteers to watch the children. She gave him a stink eye in return, making him laugh. “Yep, in about an hour Heddy will take over. She said she’ll probably be out of chips by then.”

“Not me, I’ve cleaned house against far better dealers than little Miss Meg.”

“I’ll tell her you’re coming for her.” Dean turned around and nearly ran right into a very black, very familiar buttoned chest. He lifted his eyes to Cas’s blue ones. His angry blue ones. 

“Uh,” he said very intelligently.

Cas raised both eyebrows. “Let’s talk.” He indicated his head to the right and went further back to where the back room was.

Okay. Dean followed, casting a friendly smile around in general in case anyone was looking their way. And people were, but mostly at their priest. When they reached the room Cas kept going to the stairs.

Oh.

“Hey, we can talk up here,” he called quietly, but Cas was already thudding quickly down the stairs. Dean hurried after him, wiping his forehead with his forearm. This could either be very bad or very fun, but given the look on Cas’s face he was gathering it’d be the first option.

Cas was waiting for him a few steps away at the bottom of the stair, arms crossed and stoic expression firmly in place.

So...not fun for sure.

“Hey.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

“Did you ever plan on telling me?”

Ah fuck, fucking Crowley. He licked his dry lips, casting a look in all directions. He’d welcome almost any distraction right now. Keeping his voice down, he took a step closer. “Look, what I’m doing is very important. It has nothing to do with you or us.”

His mouth firmed up, fingers flexing from under the black cuffs. “I’m not stupid,” he said scathingly. “Just because I can’t be open didn’t mean I hadn’t expected exclusivity.”

What? Dean puzzled through the words for a moment before realizing what he meant. “Oh.” Fucking Crowley indeed.

“Oh,” Cas repeatedly softly. He snorted. “I should Unbless your car.”

“Wait, you blessed my car?”

“It seemed to mean a lot to you.”

Dean couldn’t help the half-smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, that was really sweet actually. 

Cas pointed at him, a sharp motion. “Don’t. This is a small town, everybody knows you went on a date. You should have told me so I could make my own decision.”

Holy shit, he was  _ jealous _ . Dean took a step closer, his grin widening despite the wary look he received in return. “Cas, Crowley blackmailed me into that date. You’re the only person I’m interested in.”

A furrow touched Castiel’s brow before the ire was replaced with exhaustion and regret.

Dean had been hoping for some relief, so he was feeling a bit puzzled here. “What?” Did Cas do something when he found out? No hellfire like a scorned priest, apparently.

His eyes dropped, tongue moving between his lips as he was clearly debating on opening up. After a long moment he spoke, his gravelly voice dropped several octaves. “Crowley had proof of the date. I thought..”

“Why did Crowley show you?” That poncy waste of organs certainly didn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart. Plus he literally orchestrated the whole thing!

Another long silence as his mouth twitched and parted. Finally his eyes rose to Dean’s again. “He said if I didn’t do as he asked, he’d out me. I was resistant until knowing, thinking, that you were…”

Shit. Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose, wincing already. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault.” Not all of it, but he felt responsible anyway. If only he had handled a lot of things differently. “What did he want?”

“Confessions,” Cas said shortly.

“Huh?”

“Information. That people give during confession.”

Dean snapped his fingers. “Oh right, I’ve seen that in movies.”

Cas gave him a disbelieving look. 

He cleared his throat. “So, he wants to know what people confess in return for keeping your secret. That’s Shakespearian, or Orwellian...damn, Sam would know.” Then he remembered Sam was lurking somewhere in the shadows like a freakishly tall Phantom of the Opera. 

Shaking his head, Dean tried to focus on Cas. “What are you doing to do?”

The priest just looked back at him sadly, his shoulders slumping from their normal perfect posture.

Dean wanted to comfort him, to run his hand along Cas’s and promise they’d figure this out. But before he could do or say anything, a shout interrupted them.

“Pastor? Are you down here getting that thing I asked for?” Benny called from the top step. He probably thought Dean was down there touching base with his work partner.

Shit. Dean sincerely hoped Sam didn’t set up any listening devices down here. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right up. With the thing.” Dean looked around for something but only saw some tools next to the bottom of the stairs. He grabbed a wrench and looked at Cas. Throwing all caution to the wind, he strode back over to him and pressed his mouth against Cas’s.

Cas opened his mouth and kissed him back wet and messy, desperation and desire mingled from both sides.

Dean pulled back and looked into his eyes before striding up the stairs quickly. Benny was at the top waiting for him, partially blocking Charlie’s view.

She was chewing on her bottom lip again. “Is it the pipes?”

“No, they’re working great. Everything will be great.” He cast a grateful look at Benny before moving to her side and putting an arm around her shoulders. 

It must have been good timing, because a certain someone crossed the threshold while looking all around.

Charlie stiffened under his arm, her shoulders lifting before she stepped away from him and faced her father head on. “What are you doing here?”

Bradford looked very casual, wearing a plain polo shirt and faded jeans with a wide leather belt. He was carrying two grocery bags and looking determined. “I brought some pastries to go with the refreshments. Your mother always said to have punch and pie.”

A smart woman, Dean thought, but otherwise just watched to see if he had to step in. Not that Bradford had done more than stand there.

“Why do you keep showing up?” Her voice was softer this time, barely louder than the chatting from the growing number of people.

He shook his white-haired head, stern face pulling into long lines. “I’m just trying to make up for all the mistakes I’ve made. Let me try, Charlie.”

She tensed up again, looking over her shoulder at Dean before turning back around. “You can do whatever you want.”

Dean watched her walk off. He met the older man’s eye as he carried the bags to Ellen’s table anyway. He couldn’t blame Charlie, she’d spent a long time suffering for his actions. 

He could understand that all too well. 

Speaking of which, he went to check over the guest names and took note of them. Several of the young men looked to be the wrong age, unfortunately, but the party hadn’t quite started yet. People were walking around with the slim box of purchased chips, talking and waiting for the tables to officially open.

Meg expertly shuffled a deck of cards in her capable hands, splaying them along the table in front of her and sweeping them back up in one easy move with smirking. He really wanted to see Ellen sit at her table just to see the two go head-to-head. 

Once nobody was paying attention to him he ducked into the back room and hurried down the stairs. 

It was empty. 

Unless Cas was squished in the boiler room with Sam, he was gone again. Dean thought he had been kissed back in return, but maybe it was a goodbye kiss. At least, it was going to be a goodbye one if all went as planned tonight.

He checked in with Sam, who gave the sweaty thumbs up and was making sure everything was still recording with huge headphones over both ears. 

Upstairs people were finally getting settled at their chosen table. The roulette table was the most popular with a small crowd of people clutching chips in one hand and lemonade in the other.

He pinpointed where every dark haired fellow was, up until he looked at the refreshment page and saw Cas talking with Ellen. A hopeful pang shot through him as he made his way toward them.

But on the way he slowed, noticing a particularly eager young man talking with Charlie. Dean approached a pew as if looking for something, one ear turned their way.

“Can we buy more chips if we run out?” 

“Well, we’re doing a limit since it’s really a raffle. I mean, there’s a lot in each set so it should last the whole night.”

“But what if it doesn’t?” he insisted. “Can I buy a second set? You don’t have to count it in the raffle.”

“Um, I guess.” Charlie looked at him a bit strangely as the guy grabbed a chair at Meg’s table and immediately began sorting his chips.

He didn’t know for sure, but he  _ knew. _

A calm settled under his skin as he walked to the book with several dozen scribbled names. Some were large and some were cramped, some were loopy and others in neat blocks. He looked over the ones written in block letters, committing the few to heart.

Knocking it over, he shoved the book and pen further under the table and made sure it was blocked by the tablecloth before moving on.

There were about seven kids upstairs with Jo and the other teenage volunteer, Claire. She was baby-faced and blonde, but old enough to watch the antics with a oh so mature eye. He recognized three of them by name, Dovie’s kids and Susanna, Claire’s sister. 

“I bet you’ve babysat most of these kids,” he said, standing closer to Jo’s chair.

Jo shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve been babysitting for years, only time I get out of the house.”

“Ahh. Well, can I see that?” He picked up the parent sign-in sheet, running through the list of names.

_ Ken Hammond. _

“That’s the name, I couldn’t remember. Greg wanted me to grab his son for him.”

Jo didn’t even look suspicious, she just looked around. “Greg? I don’t recognize the name, who’s the kid?”

“Ken.”

“Oh,” she said, pointing, “that one was Ken.”

He followed her finger to a dark haired kid sitting and handing out imaginary ice cream cones for a game the younger ones were playing. He was participating in paytime, but he had this subdued look about him.

He was well fed and had short sleeves on, no bruises that could be seen. His eyes just looked resigned, as if his smile couldn’t lift high enough and he knew and accepted this.

Dean pulled out his phone. “Oh, I guess he’s just gonna have his uncle come up instead.” He texted Sam the description of the kid, clothes, name, and cover story before he went back downstairs.

Sam was good, he could get the kid to the basement without attracting any undue attention. He had this way about him with children, even though he looked like he just climbed down a beanstalk to chase a goose-stealer.

As he was hanging about the bottom of the stairs waiting for a confirmation text, he saw possibly the worst sight he could ever see on a case. The kidnapper was heading toward his way.

Why was a dyed in the wool gambler heading away from the tables? Because he had a servant of the Lord speaking quietly with him while George, also known as Greg, looked desolate. But hopeful. When George talked his hands moved as his voice carried over the chatter with a whining compliance.

As they neared, he could hear Cas’s deep voice soothingly saying, “It is not easy. But you must think of your son.”

_ Fuck!  _ No, this was all set up to distract him from Ben for a few precious hours. He turned before they passed him and went up the stairs as casually as possible.

Moving past the two chatty teenagers, he saw Sam kneeling by a frightened looking Ben. Ben didn’t look frightened of Sam per se, but it had been so long the kid probably was sure there was no actual escape. Dean had seen it before, broke his heart every time.

“He’s here,” Dean got out before the two following behind him reached the top step. It wasn’t the first time a situation had been compromised, it made it messier but not impossible.

So he turned around and smiled at them. “Have you been enjoying yourself, Father, and…?” He held out a hand.

George was a young, somewhat plain looking guy who didn’t look to be in his early thirties. He licked his lips nervously, holding out a hand. It was sweaty when Dean clasped it. “Greg.”

“You know, we are offering an additional set to the parents because you guys work so hard.” Dean flashed his best commiserating grin, watching the other man’s eyes light up.

A frown touched the corner of Cas’s damnably kissable mouth. “He was just coming upstairs to collect his son, actually.”

“What? It’s barely been thirty minutes. That’s why we offer the extra set and the best babysitters this town can offer, a parent deserves a night off.” Dean felt like his face was going to freeze in this rictus of a smile.

Cas narrowed his eyes a bit at him. He did not look entirely pleased, but he couldn’t say it because client-priest privilege, Dean guessed. Damn, he knew the guy went to St. Michael’s. “He wants to leave.” 

George looked like he wanted anything but, yet he dutifully nodded and tried to look around Dean. It was obvious the moment he saw something amiss, his eyes widened and mouth formed the ‘o’ of horror.

And his hand dropped to his jacket. 

Dean swore under his breath and jerked back out of the way, reaching behind his back.

“Freeze, asshole.” Sam was already prepared, he had a gun trained on kidnapper and holding another hand back as if to reassure Ben. The girls shrieked and Claire ducked down and Jo jumped to her feet. Most of the other kids weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention while playing with the plastic kitchen set.

George’s hand stilled before it ever reached inside his clothes, and that should have been that. Dean was literally three steps away from the frozen criminal.

“Put down the gun.” Cas held up both hands and approached Sam slowly. Before anyone could fill him in, he went from careful to foolhardy. The priest literally rushed at an armed man, for god’s sake.

Dean could have dove at George to stop him from running, but instead he all but leapt on Cas’s back to stop him from tackling Sam and becoming a holy priest in more than one way. They went down together as the the shrieking reached a new pitch behind them.

Claire was making that noise, but Jo had moved to run downstairs, probably for her mother. Ellen was one of those lady who’d wade into a fight. “Jo!” Dean barked. “Get  **Greg** ! Take him down!”

Jo paused, then nodded before disappearing down the stairs.

Probably should have paid attention to the priest though. Dean found himself turned and flipped on the ground underneath Castiel as if he were a child. It was kinda exciting too, and now was definitely not the right time to swoon over strong thighs trapping his.

“Stay down,” Cas growled at Dean, casting a look at Sam who was trying to tell the kid to stay and they’d be back. Cas’s fingers touched Dean’s cheek before he took advantage of Sam being distracted. 

Dean wrapped a hand around the material hanging past Cas’s knees, yanking him back like a bungee jumper. “Cas, wait! He’s trying to help the kid, for fuck’s sake.”

Cas stumbled back and hit his elbow on Dean’s sternum and everything was a clusterfuck until he heard a scream from downstairs.

“We’re trying to help the kid.” Dean repeated before scrambling from under Cas and running down the stairs. 

What the fuck, a quarter of their freshly cleaned floor was covered in punch and two ladies were hitting someone with brooms. He really hoped it was their perp.

He was trying to get through the crowd who were specifically bunching closer instead of fleeing like normal people, when one of the women got pushed over as George made a break for it.

Charlie scrambled to her feet, short hair in a wild disarray and immediately surrounded by concerned townsfolk

Dean tried to wind through the crowd but it was slow. He could see the guy’s dark head nearing the entrance. Fuck, all that hard work. The kid was great work, but psychos like this guy would come back.

Suddenly the head went down like a sack of bricks, and Dean got through the crowd to see Miss Edith holding her cane out at an odd angle.

“I could kiss you,” he vowed as he ran and landed knees first on the abductor’s back. 

Edith sniffed. “Get in line.”

Shoving his gun in the guy’s back, Dean leaned over and whispered, “Give me a reason.” Feeling the guy go limp, except to lay both his hands above his head, Dean sighed in relief. 

So long as nobody tried to tackle him, everything should be fine. He grabbed several zip-ties out of his back pocket. “Put your arms behind your back.” He bound his wrists together and stood up, yanking the man up by the plastic.

He made a low pained sound, but mostly hung his head low whispering something repetitively. “Don’t take my son...don’t, don’t take him...he’s all I have..” 

Dean jerked guy’s head up when he repeated itself on a whimpered loop, looking around. The crowd had migrated to a semi-circle around them, which was bad enough. 

Charlie pushed through the crowd, looking wrecked. Her shirt was torn and the side of her face was turning dark pink.

If that wasn’t sirens he was hearing, he would’ve let go of George just so he could justify beating the shit out of him.

“What,” Charlie gaped, “is going on here?!”


	16. Holy Wedding!

Dean wrapped his fingers securely around the ziptie, searching for the gun and sliding it harmlessly toward the wall before meeting Charlie’s bewildered eyes. “He kidnapped a boy a few months ago.”

“I’m his father,” the kidnapper muttered.

“Shut up, you’ll be calling someone daddy soon enough.” Dean shook the guy and wrenched his wrists up so George had to stand on tiptoes or pop his joints out. He could hear the slams of car doors outside.

The police had finally came, thank god.

“How do you know that?” Charlie asked, still not getting it and he was tempted to leave it that way. But another person was allowed through the crowd, one religious authority and fantastic kisser.

“He came here to apprehend the man.” Cas said, his face blank. “He’s undercover, isn’t he?”

Charlie’s wide eyes traveled to Dean, as if begging him to deny it. The whole crowd was nearly silent, as quiet as nosy onlookers ever got.

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly, watching Cas. “Yeah.”

Then the door opened behind him and the police came in, taking over the scene and conversation and Dean could only see Cas walking away.

Other than disbelieving proclamations around, everything went entirely normal and mundane for the next hour. The cops asked questions and one went back to the radio to call in the situation. Another went downstairs because that’s where Sam took the kid, and he asked Dean questions while leading George out to one of the cop cars. They left on the zip-ties even after cuffing him.

“The Plano Police Department has all the information. I have their info and case numbers in my car to make it go faster.” Both Sam and he had copies of everything they could so it could be handed over and handled by the local authorities.

“Are you a friend of the mother’s?” 

“Something like that.” Dean shrugged. “She’s been notified that her son is here.”

The cop, Officer MacLeod, nodded sympathetically. “I have a kid, I know I’d be going out of my mind. He’s been gone a few months, you said?”

Dean nodded, then smirked to see the cop send a nasty look at the backseat window where guy was. He was hoping the guy  _ tripped _ a few times on the way to his holding cell.

The cop holding Ben’s hand came out of the church, the poor kid looked like he didn’t know where to hide, cheer, or cry. But when he saw Dean he ran and hugged him, wrapping both arms around him. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

“Aw hey,” Dean patted his shoulder and chuckled nervously. Kids were so short, it was weird.

Ben gazed up at him. “When will my mom be here?” 

“A few hours, assuming she doesn’t get caught breaking any speed limits.” Dean looked at the two cops next to him. “Just kidding.”

“Come on, we’ll want to talk to you too.” Officer Hennessee leaned over to speak with Ben, holding out his hand again.

Dean nodded at Ben to let him know it was okay. He watched the two go to a different cop car and sighed.

Then he yelped when someone smacked his arm.

“Are you serious?!” Charlie managed to look both furious and on the edge of tears. Dovie was hovering nervously, looking more worried about Charlie than him.

He rubbed his arm ruefully. “Hey...you were awesome in there.”

She gasped and looked back at her church. “Oh my gosh, what will everyone think?”

That was the most small-town thing he ever heard her say and he had to smile ruefully. “It wasn’t your fault. I lied, not you. And like I said, everyone will totally be talking about this event and wished they had shown up.” 

“You posed as a Minister! I’m sure that’s a pretty big sin.” 

“Well, I’m an atheist.”

“That’s why you suck at prayers!”

Okay, Dean was kinda offended. But he did, so there was that. “Oh, Sam!” Sam was talking with the policeman who had glared so hotly at the kidnapper. “Meet my brother.” Maybe by dragging someone else into the conversation he could escape the outrage. But if anyone had any right to be mad, she did. 

He’d been around her nearly every day for like, two weeks. Felt like forever though.

Charlie crossed her arms tightly as Sam approached with a big wave. 

“Sam, this is Charlie who runs the church. Charlie, this is my brother.” 

She reluctantly took his hand, because she didn’t have anything against him personally.

Sam shook it enthusiastically. “Yeah, we spoke over email. I’m the one that did the two interviews with you, I’m glad we finally got to meet.”

Charlie stiffened and pulled her hand away, looking at them both with big wounded eyes before stalking back to the church.

Dovie stood there awkwardly before shyly sticking out one hand. “Um, I’m Dovie. Nice to meet you, Sam.”

Sam shook her hand with a gentler touch, still looking somewhat puzzled at the abrupt departure of Charlie.

Dovie turned her gaze on Dean, mouth softening. “I think it’s really great what you did. If my boys had ever disappeared...I couldn’t imagine.” She looked at the pavement under their feet and nodded. “I better get back. Call me before you go. Unless you’re staying?” She quickly glanced back up at him.

“I’ll call you before I leave.” Dean noticed the cop cars were pulling out and he leaned over to brush his lips against her cheek. “Promise. Give this to Charlie.” He handed her an envelope with the two checks she had passed on to him that he never touched.

Sam and he both drove down to the station to finish up their statements. Sam handed over the surveillance they had and the station had found out kidnapper’s address and sent a car with an emergency warrant.

Everything would go smoothly from here on out and Dean should be thrilled. He really should be relieved, this was the happy ending for everyone involved.

And Sam and Dean would leave to find another person who needed their happy end.

But when he was sitting in one of the cheap chairs in the station’s waiting room, he checked his phone again.

The first call he received was from Edith.

“Oh Pastor, are you all right? Is the boy?”

“I’m fine, and his mother is on the way.” He paused. “And you don’t have to call me that, you know.” 

“I’m too old to change my ways now.”

“Really? In that case, don’t shatter any lightbulbs or hips while I’m gone.”

“Impertinent boy.” Edith grumbled, then filled him in on the fact that the Casino Night continued, except it became somewhat of a Gossip Night as everyone who was within spitting distance wanted to tell what they saw or did.

Jo was basking in the attention, Edith groaned, saying how it’d become a story about how she single-handedly disarmed a raging lunatic. Then she handed the phone off to Heddy.

Dean stiffened somewhat. Just cause he didn’t see her in the crowd didn’t mean she hadn’t heard. Of course she did, everybody in town from infants to the dying had probably been told all about the night already.

“Are you leaving?” Heddy demanded, much more direct than even Edith.

“Got to, Heddy. I did leave money on the dresser though, even though I know you were doing it for Charlie.”

“Hmmph. I don’t need the money, we need a Minister.” 

“If I were one, you’d never be able to get rid of me.” Dean chuckled, then sobered. “I can’t though, that’s not how I help people.”

She sighed, a softer sound than he’d heard her make. “Take care of yourself. God is watching out for you.” 

“Thank you, Heddy.” Dean hung up with her and ran his fingers through his hair. The number to this phone was splashed all over the hundreds of flyers pasted all over, but it remained silent after that.

It wasn’t until Sam was finished sharing all his goodies and approaching him that Dean’s phone buzzed again. 

It was a number he didn’t recognize and something in his chest jumped. “Hello?”

“Hi Dean.” A soft female voice came through the line.

“Oh, hey Dovie.”

“She hasn’t taken it yet, but I wanted you to tell you I let her know.”

“Ah. Thanks.”

She was quiet a moment. “Charlie’ll come around. She liked you so much.”

“Yeah, me too. Hey, you take care of her, she likes you a lot too.” This time after goodbyes he looked up at Sam and immediately scowled. “No, no talking. You stay for the mom, I’m out of here.”

“But--”

“Nope.” And he jogged down the steps and climbed in his car. Maybe he drove slowly by St. Michael’s like an idiot, but that was the last of that. Once he hit the city limit, he was determined to put the tiny town out of his mind for good.

Life did move on. He didn’t put anything out of his mind at all, but time didn’t care about that.

Three months went on by. He did a few cases with Sammy before they split up again. Sammy was doing an easy tag-and-burn for a bail bond company and Dean? Dean was just spending his time looking at websites. He found one that let you click on a picture of bubble wrap and it made a sound just like squeezing the real thing.

Dean wasted like two days on that.

Not that he didn’t receive calls from Lebanon and he wasn’t sure if that made it worse or better. But then he kept the little phone even though he had a new burner one, so he was basically inviting it at this point.

Jo called to yell at him then asked if they were hiring. That was a big fat no. Not that he didn’t like her, but she didn’t want a life like this no matter how romantic it seemed.

Sometimes she’d call him to argue with him about that and talk about her life.

Dovie kept in touch, though when she innocently mentioned they were down to one priest, he didn’t answer the phone again for a week.

Charlie finally called him, he could hear Dovie in the back. At first she was hurt, but she came around. It helped after she found a new Minister for the now popular little church, and sometimes she asked him for fundraiser ideas. She was mum about the whole new pastor thing, but he figured it was a sore spot for her. 

Dean touched the invitation that had been lying facedown on the table for the past three days. He’d been at Bobby’s for his impromptu vacation. Sam expected him to go, no matter how often Dean said he wasn’t going to.

They hadn’t talked about the other stuff. Okay, Sam tried but Dean always found something to do. All the maintenance was done on the car and he gave it several good waxings. He just...didn’t want to talk about it.

So the day came where he neatly folded his nicest clothes in a bag and toiletries, got a gruff “ ‘Bout time, you’d miss it if you waited anymore, ya idjit,” from Bobby, and he was out the door. It was a good six hour drive again.

Just like before, the moment he crossed the Kansas border all the good radio stations went fuzzy. He hung on as long as he could, trying to decipher hints of song through the crackle.

Finally giving up, he hit Scan.

'Karma-Karma-Karma-Karma-Karma Chameleon, you come and go, you come and gooo.’

_ Scan! _

‘Just you and I, just you and I… Sharing our love together. I know in time, I know in time...we’ll build the dreams we treasure..’

_ Scan! _

‘Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you’re never coming around,’

“Goddamnit, you piece of shit, do you think I won’t destroy you?” He growled at the radio. “They will never find the pieces, do you hear me?! Play me some goddamn Led Zeppelin!”

Not that he would throw it out, because it would hurt Baby, but it was really pushing it. He could probably wrench it out and toss it out the window without much damage, it was tempting. God, only thirty minutes till he got there and he already felt like bathing with a toaster.

As the sign to the Center of the goddamn Universe came into sight, Dean had both windows down as he sped down the highway. 

“Turn around bright eyes, every now and then I fall apart. And I need you now tonight, and I need you more than ever.. If you only hold me tight, we’ll be holding on forever. And we'll only be making it right, 'cause we'll never be wrong together...”

It was a freakin’ good song, and he listened to it with the personal conviction of a drunk soccer mom in a karaoke bar.

He hummed along to the song’s lyrics ‘Where have all the good men gone’ as he reached the real estate office. For a moment deja vu slapped him so hard he just sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel and staring at nothing.

A light knock on his window knocked him out of his cage and he looked up. He grinned and got out of the car to wrap his arms around the short redhead and spinning her around.

She looked happy to see him, which he hadn't been entirely sure of, no matter how many phone calls they had together since.

“So good to see you, Dean!” she said once on her feet and  beaming up at him. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to make it down!”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t call before a bit ago. Busy workload, you know.” Dean lied through his teeth. Hardly the first time.

She grinned and smoothed down her shirt and adopted a teasing expression. “Busy huh? What’d you move on to, Deacon? Archbishop?”

He stuck an arm around her shoulder as they walked and pretended to think. “I’m holding out for Pope, actually. He’s perfect, right? I’d just have to be myself.”

She laughed. “I still can’t believe it. Sam had put you were unconventional, but still. You started out the prayer with ‘The Lord is my shepherd!”

“That’s not how you pray?” Dean held open the door for her and pulled a face. “Cause the only other thing I could think of was ‘Now I lay me down to sleep’.”

She shook her head fondly at him and stepped aside so Heddy could get in and give him a hug.

“How’s the hero business going?” the older lady asked brightly.

“Heck if I know.” He smiled down at her. He was definitely no hero, but it was a better welcome than he was bound to receive from some of the other people he lied to.

Heddy smiled tolerantly, and knowingly, at him before patting his arm. “You’re a good man, and doing God’s work.”

“I should send him an invoice.” Dean teased and accepting the pointed look in return. Surprisingly enough, Ellen stopped by before they left and gave him a hug and a clap on the shoulder.

He told her she had admirable punch flinging skills before Charlie and he walked down to the church.

He couldn’t say why, even though he knew, his heartbeat sped up as they approached. The rose bushes were just as tame-wild as before, not blocking anyone from getting in but allowed to roam otherwise.

It smelled the same, of sunlight and wood shavings and sandalwood. He opened the door for Charlie and looked around for the new Minister she said would still be there.

He caught a glimpse of black as steps sounded from the staircase.

When the young minister reached the bottom step, tall and blonde and smiling, Dean’s stomach plummeted past his stomach and into the floorboards. 

Swallowing down his disappointment, he held out his hand and shook the guy’s hand. Then he made an excuse to go outside and once he was in his own car, he slumped over the steering wheel in disappointment.

That’s what he got for hoping. Life moved on, and so did everyone else.


	17. Holy Water (Under the Bridge)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reception begins! And ends.

“I never did see your apartment. It’s...nice.” Dean stood in the middle of the empty living room, save for a couch and a lamp. No paintings, no television. What, had she pawned everything to afford that church?

Charlie laughed as she passed by him, patting his arm. “I’m moving in with Dovie after the wedding, my stuff is already there.”

“Oh. I wasn’t sure if you were a serial killer, sorry.” 

“Shut up.” She was smiling though while tossing him several blankets. “You get the couch, serial killers aren’t considerate.”

“Now I know what it’s like to live…”  _ in a convent _ , “in an asylum.” Dean pulled his bag over to the couch and pulled out his laptop to start popping bubble wrap and seeing if any cases came in on the shared email.

Nope, not since the runaway teenager. He tilted his head, searching for the tag-and-burn Sam ran off to do. No email, he clicked on every single one and even checked the folders on the side.

Maybe it was a phone call case, though he could’ve sworn Sam said he got a new case while he was on the laptop. But then, Sam was always on the laptop for one thing or another. Probably secretly stalking girls on those social sites.

Charlie ran through the big day tomorrow, including the rehearsal dinner he missed.

“I'm sorry again. I wish I could've been here to be your best man.”

“Aww, it's all right. I know you're busy. It all worked out.”

“Yeah.” Dean could have arrived in time though, he just didn't want to spend two weeks here ever again. He shooed her with both hands. “Go get some sleep, you don’t want to be wearing a wedding dress with bags under your eyes. Wait, who’s wearing the dress?”

Charlie made a rude noise with her mouth and went off to bed with a cheeky “Good night!”

He chuckled and stared at his computer, pulling up his saved tab and popping bubble wrap until he was too tired to stay awake.

Since he was hanging around Charlie for the morning, he made it to the church early while she checked did last minute stuff. There were very few flowers in the church itself, which he approved of. Besides, someone had pinned the roses from outside against the windows along the side. Also, there were clipped roses floating in round glass bowls. 

The chairs were adorned with white covers and runners ran down the aisles, but it wasn’t fancy or overbearing. He took himself to the back where Charlie was getting changed, not daring to go upstairs where white rose petals led. That was Dovie’s domain and a bevy of girls kept coming up and down in various states of dress. 

Finally one stopped, it looked like Claire but her hair was all done up and she did something colorful with her face. “Dean?!” She came over and gave him a quick hug. “Why didn’t you say hi? Come on upstairs!” 

He allowed himself to be tugged upstairs, sighing about being nervous about entering ground zero of Tornado Bridesmaid.

But she ignored him and pushed him gently into the room.

Just as suspected, this is where the tulle and those little satin things he saw the few wedding he’d been at began their spread.

“Dean, you never called, you jerk!” Jo practically leapt on him, which was better than attacking him admittedly. 

“What d’you mean? I call you.”

“Whether or not you were gonna be at the wedding! Dovie was beside herself, that’s not good for the bride!” She smacked his arm a couple of times, but then dragged him more firmly than Claire did toward the vision in white sitting before a mirror.

Dovie turned around in her wedding finery and long lashes and delicate white sparkles on her eyelids. Her lips were glossy and pink and they must’ve done something else, because she was glowing.

Like, not literally in some supernatural way, but glowing with joy.

She stood up and gave him a great big hug, so tight he was tempted to remind her something might be crushable on her dress. When she pulled away tears were glittering in her eyes. “Oh no, my makeup!” A watery giggle followed the statement as she fanned her face.

He fanned her face too, not wanting to undo the hard work. “Boy, you look awful. Yuck.” He grinned at her, hoping it’d help pull back some of those tears.

“Thanks,” Dovie said dryly, squeezing his arm. “How’ve you been?”

“Pretty disappointed, now that I’ve seen you didn’t wait for me. I guess I’ll just pine for the rest of my days.”

She was more dry-eyed now, taking a seat again and peering at him through the mirror. Her hair was piled high on her head, and in delicate ringlets he was afraid to breath on too hard. “All you have to do is say the word.” 

“And have Charlie leave me as dickless as you two? I think not.”

Dovie laughed and waved a hand at him. “I can’t believe I thought you were a minister.”

He crossed his arms; why did everyone say that? He had done a great job. “Hmmph. Is my replacement doing the ceremony?” 

“Yes, he’s been very good. Not quite as exciting as you were, of course. He is eloquent and hardworking, like you, and he fits in well.”

“Does he know he’s second best?”

Dovie shooed him with her manicured nails. “You’re getting death glares from at least half my bridesmaids. Go see if Charlie is almost ready or if anyone even arrived. I’m so nervous!”

He left her to it and head downstairs. Charlie was in the small room straightening out her jacket. She was wearing white silk, but it was cut in a loose jacket and trousers. 

“Hmm. I like it,” he said from behind. And he did. It wasn’t a stiff tuxedo with a cummerbund or any of that. It was clearly made for a woman, falling in gentle lines along her shoulders and chest, loose around her hips. The trousers were impeccably tailored and had the front crease.

“It’s Valentino. So I was told.” Charlie fussed with the thin lapels and turned to him. “Hey, can I borrow...uhh..” She looked him over.

He rolled his eyes and pulled out a plain handkerchief. “I also wore blue underwear, but I’m not lending you those.”

She took the handkerchief and wiped her forehead before stuffing in front her front.

“Do I have to take it back for it to be ‘something borrowed’?”

Charlie snorted. 

Ellen stuck her head in the room, nodding at him in acknowledgment. “Okay, people are arriving. Are you taking a seat, Dean?”

“Yeah.” He waved at the bride-to-be and followed Ellen. He did see people he knew already sitting, but nobody that...not that he was looking for any particular person. He took a seat at the front in the section family, mostly because he was told to.

It was sweet that they gave him that much credit for hooking them up. It did occur to him, though, that they never talked much about extended family, so there was that too.

More people poured in and by the time it was five minutes after three he gave up on looking behind him every time the doors opened. He was going to sprain his neck or something before it even started.

When the soft tendrils of music began, six bridesmaids came out two at a time, arms girlishly hooked at each other’s elbows. 

Dovie’s two boys came down the aisle together in smart white suits, one throwing petals at the guests and the oldest crushing the pillow to his chest as if someone was going to snatch it from him.

Charlie came down by herself to stand at the front and waited next to the new Pastor. He watched her face when the doors open, opening up like a rose.

Dean turned around to see the veiled Dovie, walking down the aisle slowly. A sigh came from all around him, and more than one person was dabbing their eyes. The church was packed with people.

Gabe caught his eye and winked, not deterred when Dean narrowed his eyes at him. Even if the guy was innocent,  _ mostly innocent _ , of what happened three months ago, Dean still kinda hated him a little. 

Dovie got to the front and laid one hand in Charlie’s. The Pastor spoke in a smooth, carrying voice.

“A wedding is such a wonderful occasion filled with dreams, hopes and excitement. We are here today to celebrate Charlie and Dovie and the love they have for each other, and to witness the beginning of their journey as marriage partners.”

He talked about safe havens and nurturing, about how their love was an inspiration to others and so abundant they shared it with others.

“Will you, Charlie, take Dovie to be your partner for life? Will you walk by her side and encourage her in all that she does? Will you talk with her, listen to her, share her laughter and tears? Will you be her partner, her best friend, and lover for the rest of your life, and take her now as your lawfully wedded wife for now and forever?”

“I will.” Charlie reached to take the ring, which took a bit of whispering before James handed it over, then slid it on Dovie’s fingers. 

The minister repeated the questions for Dovie, and it only took a moment before her to have the ring and sliding it on Charlie’s finger with a blissful, “I will.”

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss the bride,” he told Charlie, then looked at Dovie, “You may kiss the bride.”

They did, and the audience clapped loudly for them. They were introduced to everyone as Mrs. and Mrs. Bradbury, and came down the aisles to more clapping. 

The audience had to move to the outsides and back, where there were tables and seats set up already. The ladies stayed inside for pictures.

Dean grabbed a glass of what he hoped was wine and not cranberry juice. People were talking excitedly with each other and admiring the back and the fragrant roses. The weather was mostly sunny, with just enough cloud cover to keep it cool. 

They had changed the backyard, now there were trellises cutting it in half and vines all along the white painted wood. He walked through the space in between to see what they did. It was rougher back here, the roses more wild and other flowers pushing up along the edges.

He took a sip of his drink. Damn, it was cranapple juice. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean turned slowly, eyes still adjusting to the shade as his heart sped up a lot.  _ Play it cool. _ “Cas.” 

Cas was dressed in a white business shirt and black slacks, with a blue tie that paled in comparison to his brilliantly vivid eyes. His sleeves were rolled up, showing a dusting of dark hair.

God, his voice sounded as marvelous as in his memory, craggy and deep.

“I thought you left.”

“I came back.” 

Dean took a step forward for him. “You’re wearing regular clothes…”

Cas glanced away before drawing in a breath and meeting his eyes again. “I couldn’t stay there anymore. Instead of transferring, I just went where I wanted.”

Yeah, he’d suspected that Cas wasn’t going to stay and give up information for the likes of Crowley. It was a damn good thing the man wasn’t here today, Mayor or not. “Crowley--”

“It wasn’t Crowley,” Cas interrupted quickly, as if expecting that. “I didn’t leave because of him. I left because of you.”

He felt like he’d been punched. That was exactly what he had been afraid of. This time he looked anywhere else but at the man across from him. “I’m sorry.”

“You lied to me.” Cas didn’t even sound angry, just resigned. Like he was saying it because it was a reminder for Dean, not Cas.

Dean braved a glance at him. “I--I didn’t lie about everything.”

“You didn’t need to. We didn’t talk much.” Now Cas sounded dismissive and Dean couldn’t figure out what he said wrong. Or didn’t say right. He even stared at the drink in his own hand instead of at Dean.

And it wasn’t true, they talked. It was great talking with Cas, he missed the somewhat formal, kinda oblivious way Cas had about him. “Wait. Are you staying somewhere now? What have you been up to?”

He didn’t want him to leave. As hypocritical as that sounded.

“I work. I sleep in a bed I pay for. I talk to people.” Cas spoke rather stiffly, his chin lifting a little. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be here. I hoped you would be.”

“Why? You got what you want.”

Dean gaped for a moment, a bit surprised to hear Cas implying that. Did Cas think that he was used? But of course he thought that, Dean had lied about everything else.

Dean shut his mouth and watched Cas walk away.

_ Almost. _

Dean strode forward to grab his arm, nearly upsetting both their drinks. He didn’t care. “I didn’t get what I want,” he said slowly, staring into Cas’s eyes. “Because I wanted you. Just you.”

Cas held his gaze for a long moment, as if he could read the truth or lie of it. He blinked and tried to move his arm back. “Why.”

“I don’t know, because you’re great?” Dean had a feeling this was going into chick-flick moment, but damnit he’d do it. “You’re really smart, you like me for some reason, and you do this thing with your tongue..”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth twitched, but quickly turned flat again.

“I really want to see what else you can do with it.” Dean stepped closer. “I want to talk with you until midnight and drive you around in Baby all day. You didn’t get to try my wicked after-sex breakfast. And,” he leaned close, speaking directly into Cas’s ear, “I haven’t gotten to be inside you.”

Cas leaned back, a touch of color rising in his cheeks. “How do I know--?” He never got to finish, because Dean lightly pressed his mouth against those pliant ones.

At first he was afraid Cas wasn’t going to return the kiss. But finally, finally he returned the pressure, tongue swiping out to taste the tartness on his lips. 

For a moment his lips parted to invite the hot silk of the tongue licking inside, sending shivers through him.

Dean leaned back and reached for Cas’s free hand to entwine their fingers. “Come on.”

Cas looked between them, his expression plainly uncertain. Of course, half of everyone probably still thought Dean was gay and didn’t know about Cas’s preferences. Heck, good time as any to come out of the pulpit, wasn’t it? 

Dean squeezed his hand. “Yeah. I’m not letting you run off again.” He winked at the other man’s mildly offended look. 

After all, Dean had a feeling he’d be getting that look a lot, and he had some very good ideas on how to be forgiven every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented and shared and enjoyed this with me! 
> 
> Feel free to check out 'Confession' in progress. It has another Priest Cas! But a very different Dean :D

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you're enjoying so far, feel free to leave a review with praise or rotten tomatoes, either one. ^.^ I can't figure how to show there's more than one chapter, but will be posting more soon! The songs turned out to be hilariously perfect, love that about this. Story is based off a book but with Destiel flavor!


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